Improbability Reconsidered
by Thalia Kendall
Summary: DONE! Related to [Secrets and Shadows], this is the story of Marcus Flint and Penelope Clearwater. The snarky Slytherin son of Death Eaters and a Muggleborn Ravenclaw: friends? Allies? How did it come to be, and where will it lead?
1. Games

A/N: This fic is COMPLETELY the fault of Akasha and Ravyn, two ebil ebil people. That is all. It's the side story of "Secrets and Shadows". Except this was one of the couples that WASN'T focused on in S&S. In fact, they weren't mentioned as a couple at all. Anyway, Marcus Flint and Penelope Clearwater's story follows. God save us. But read and tell me what you think anyway.  
  
Dedicated to all Flint-lovers out there.  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned the Slytherins, they would be far less cardboard-cutouts-of-evil-ish than they are portrayed in the books. But then, unlike JKR, I am no Gryffindor and I do not own them. That is all.  
  
~*~  
  
"What do you MEAN you don't know what happened to Bransford!?" The tall, powerfully-built young man roared. "Did you speak to the mediwizards at ALL!?"  
  
The boy cringed. "She... didn't make it very clear, what exactly it was... I'm really not sure why don't YOU talk to her?"   
  
Marcus gave a growl of disgust. They were in the middle of a game, and the top Chaser of the Falmouth Falcons was incapacitated. And his assistant was, as per usual, a complete imbecile. Snarling and roughly shoving his dark hair out of his eyes, he strode into the mediwizard tent. The blasted commentator was STILL blathering on about how Chaser Patricia Bransford was injured, suspected foul play from the fans of the Wimbourne Wasps, the game would be on hold until blah blah blah...  
  
"What the deuce happened to her?!"  
  
The mediwitch who was in the middle of titrating a greenish potion swivelled around in surprise at the loud exclamation by the door of the tent, but her small hands were steady and she finished titrating the drink, before she turned to face him. "Er, hello."  
  
Flint noticed that she looked vaguely familiar. A woman of medium height, with a somewhat serious expression on her face, with a quantity of curly brown hair and wide brown eyes. The shock in her face was quickly replaced by slight disapproval, likely at his unceremonious and abrupt entrance, and it was with that slight frown that Flint recognized who she was.   
  
"I'm---" she started, her voice soft but firm.  
  
"Penelope Clearwater," he finished for her. "Marcus Flint. I'm the spokesperson for this team, and it seems as though Trish is a bit injured."  
  
He hadn't changed much from their school days, though of course, she had not known him all that well. He had hated Percy, that much was for sure. But then, Percy had been everything that he was not, and vice versa. And then again, so many Gryffindors and Slytherins were never able to get along, anyway. At the moment, though, he wasn't looking at her with a sneer, or with outright hatred. Exasperation, perhaps, but he seemed more interested in knowing what had befallen the girl on the bed.   
  
"Ms. Bransford needs some rest, and I am afraid that she cannot return to the game. See, the Exoculo Caligo curse was what that person hit her with, and though she's all right now and Mr. Derrick managed to catch her before she fell and thus spared her from any other injuries, it's going to be several days before her vision returns to normal."  
  
"A blinding curse?" Flint muttered in disgust, "That's IT? Why the hell was Capper not able to explain the damned... bleeding idiot..."  
  
Penny gazed at him in slight confusion, before clearing her throat. "Mr. Flint, is there anything else, or...? Ms. Bransford needs some rest to recover her vision. I assume the referees have caught the perpetrator of the deed?"  
  
"They effin' better have," Flint growled, "Her husband'll have everyone's head if no one was caught for hurting her. Then he'd make a nasty scene and I'd have to deal with it all..."  
  
She shook her head slightly. "Well. I hope things will be all right," she told him vaguely.   
  
"They will be, Miss Perfect Prefect," he jibed, smirking slightly, "Well, time to face the music... the music of the saboteur's screams, that is. Ta-ta!"  
  
And with that cheerful greeting, the burly young man strode back out of the tent, every bit as unceremonious as he had come in, earlier. Penelope sighed, thanked the stars fervently that their paths would no longer cross as soon as she'd finished the field training here today, and went back to tending the unconscious Quidditch player on the cot.  
  
Funny for him to talk about making saboteurs suffer when she recalled that Quidditch match where he, Malfoy and a few other Slytherins tried to sabotage Harry.  
  
~*~  
  
It was late evening when Patricia Bransford opened her eyes, her vision a bit blurry but at least existent. Almost before Penelope had finished her checkup of the wounded Quidditch player, her tent was rapidly crowded with the entire Falcons' team, Marcus Flint, and Bransford's frantic husband, all of whom had been lounging outside by the tent flap and avidly listening for her voice.  
  
"We WON!" April Summerby, the Seeker, chimed out in jubilant tones as soon as she'd entered. The young woman was rubbing a bruise on her arm, "Got knocked by Partridge when he tried to push me out of the way of the Snitch, but it didn't work."  
  
Bransford smiled in the general direction of her teammate, as all the Falcons started talking at once about the parts of the game that she had missed. Penelope stepped away to give them some space.  
  
Flint followed her outside.  
  
"What're you doing?" she asked him before she could stop herself. "Following me?"  
  
He snorted, "Not precisely. More like don't want to watch John Bransford slobbering all over his wife. She isn't even that pretty."  
  
"You're terribly superficial."  
  
"And you've no right to judge me," he retorted. She shrugged, then changed the subject.  
  
"So, what happened, after you left?"  
  
"The usual," he said succinctly, "The referee found out who did it, Bransford the male threw a testosterone fit, and the game went on. Used a reserve, etc. Won 500:290."  
  
She nodded slightly. He was looming over her. The top of her head reached no higher than his mouth. "I'm... going to go back in and check on her."  
  
"Suit yourself," he watched her leave, ever the responsible, perfect...  
  
The next day, upon receiving a concise little report on the Chaser's condition, fully suitable for direct submission to the waiting press, written in a tiny, careful script and signed 'P. Clearwater', Flint shook his head wryly. He had to hand it to the Nerdy Weasel. This girl was perfect for him.  
  
It was too bad that said Nerdy Weasel didn't deserve anyone nearly so thoughtful, but he shrugged, re-sealed the parchment that she had owled him, and sent it directly off to the Division of Sports and Games of the Daily Prophet. Now that his work had been done for him, he could skive off the rest of the day, go to a pub, and find some reasonably brainless and buxom bird to entertain him that evening. 


	2. Rain

A/N: Yes, here's chapter two. To anyone who might actually be reading. Apologies for the lack of action (of either type) thus far, rest assured that both types of action shall be seen in future chapters.   
  
Disclaimer: Should you believe that I own the Potterverse, please follow the nice group of people in the white labcoats. They shall give you a pretty strait-jacket and ask you some fun questions, all right? Kthxbai!!1 *eye roll*  
  
~*~  
  
Sure, no one would expect to see her here. A nice little nurse, the perfect former student, alone in a pub, and not the cleanest and most well-run of establishments, either.  
  
Oh, it was not as if she hadn't been EXPECTING what had happened. Everyone knew that Lacey Edgemont would die any day. Indeed, it had been a miracle that the old woman, sick with a terminal case of Degenerative Nundu Syndrome, had survived thus long.  
  
But that did not make Mrs. Edgemont's death, or the thoughts that came to her head AFTER the death, any more pleasant.  
  
Penelope Clearwater silently sipped the Mint Julep that the bartender had handed her, and stared out the window. The sky was overcast, a heavy black, the air heavy and warm.   
  
Mrs. Edgemont had died in relative peace... Penelope herself had given the woman her last pain potion. The woman had closed her eyes, amidst her mourning family, and, with her hand being held by her daughter, had gradually stopped breathing. Things had been settled; she had long expected to die.  
  
Penelope wondered, rather morbidly, if she herself, when the time came, would die as peacefully. With everything done, die to be mourned and remembered.  
  
She almost frowned at herself for the depressing thoughts. The cloudy skies outside, growing ever darker, were decidedly not helping with the mood, either. She gave a wry smile at her half-finished drink.  
  
"Right now would be the time where scary organ music pipes up, a huge bolt of lightning slashes across the sky, and with the coming of the rain and the crashing of thunder, some dark villain in a black cloak makes his dramatic entrance."  
  
Almost as if on cue, the rain DID start falling, though there was no thunder or lightning... and the door to the pub slammed open as a man in dark clothes came in, barking out to the bartender for a Black Velvet. Penelope stared for a moment at the man's back, as he handed a galleon and a few knuts to the bartender.   
  
"Well, no organ music, but otherwise..."  
  
The man who stood a few feet away turned at the sound of the voice, and Penelope gave a start in recognition. She had just seen the man a week ago.  
  
"Talking to me, short stuff, or is there some imaginary friend here that I can't see?"  
  
"Don't be silly," Penelope remarked primly, her voice more than a little tart. "I would not have imaginary friends, Flint. And do NOT call me 'short stuff'."  
  
"Why the devil not?" he grinned crookedly at her, "You barely come up to my nose, if that. I could probably pick you up with one hand."  
  
"I certainly hope that you shall not attempt to test that theory," Penelope said firmly, unconsciously leaning away from him.   
  
"At the moment, I just want to finish my drink," he told her, "And what's a girl like you doing in a place like this without some Nerdy Weasel trying to stare through your blouse, hmm?"  
  
She gave him a reproachful look even as her lips thinned. "Not that it is any of your business, but Percy and I decided to remain as platonic friends after he left Hogwarts. He had other things to address, work and the like, other than trivial things like..."  
  
"Yourself?" he cut in with a sneer, "Pity... and here I was thinking that Weasel was supposed to have some intelligence. Ah, to value shiny badges over human companionship... and they say that Slytherins are cold and heartless." He gave her a slight leer over the edge of his glass, "Unless his badges can snog back, I daresay he's missing out. But with a prat like that, good riddance."  
  
"You have no right to judge my personal life," she scowled, though inside, she was cringing slightly. "Or to judge Percy in such a manner. He means well, and just because he's different from you..."  
  
He held up a hand in defense, "Relax, short stuff. Heaven forbid I profane the holiness of Lord Weasel with my sacrilegious words. But onto other things, as I personally find him boring. What might you be doing here?"  
  
"I've finished my shift today," she answered briefly. Outside, the rain started falling quite heavily.  
  
"I see," he downed the last of his drink. "Why so glum? Catch one of the other nurses and one of the male orderlies going at it in a linen closet?"  
  
She glared. "No. A terminal patient died." But WHY was she telling him this?  
  
Flint sobered slightly, and turned, staring her in the face with hard gray-green eyes. "That happens."  
  
"I know."  
  
"If you're going to stay with this field, you'll see it a lot. But at least here, whoever it was probably expected to die." That was, of course, the pragmatic way of looking at things, which might not be compatible with her tender sensibilities.  
  
"I know," she repeated calmly, before giving a slight sigh. "It's just..."  
  
He stayed silent, looking at her expectantly. She finished HER drink as well, idly touching the tip of her tongue to her lower lip.   
  
"It's just that... well, I suppose in that she was prepared for it, and she died happy, she was lucky. Not everyone can... have that, though."  
  
"Well," Flint gave a shrug, "First step in dying happy is living happy, short stuff. And it's a bit hard to do that with the poker face."  
  
"I'm NOT giving a poker face!"  
  
"Pouting's even worse unless you're trying to get someone to snog you," Marcus informed her, "It only works when a bloke does it to his girlfriend when he wants something or another. Stop sitting there hunched over an empty glass and go outside and do something."  
  
"Go outside?" she cocked an eyebrow at him, "Marcus Flint, surely you realize that it's pouring outside."  
  
"All the more reason!" he suddenly grinned, pulled her none-too-gently up from her seat by her wrist, and laid a handful of coins on the bar to cover for both their drinks. She stumbled as he made for the door, his warm hand still clamped around her wrist.   
  
"Let go... let GO, I say!" she started to say, but he gave her a slight push and then she was outside, and it was rather warm despite the rain. He was rapidly getting soaked to the skin, and looked as though he didn't care. Finally releasing her wrist from his grip, he raked both hands through his wet hair, almost pulling it in all directions.  
  
"I might need a haircut," he mused, almost to himself, even as he shot Penny a slight grin. She felt an unwilling smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and he caught on immediately.  
  
"See? you CAN smile!" he crowed, looking inordinately pleased with himself and swaggering a circle around her, "Now, now, Clearwater, that wasn't TOO hard, was it? I'll bet that it didn't even hurt!"  
  
Penelope Clearwater was outside, in the dark, with a man she barely knew and getting soaked to the skin. This was a waste of time, and all in all, just something she didn't DO...  
  
But she was laughing, and he grew more and more pleased, giving exaggerated smirks and strutting around like anything. Finally, her hair streaming into her eyes and giggling like she really hadn't done in a long time, she relaxed, leaning against the wall. Flint suddenly gave her a very long look, and unceremoniously pulled his jumper (black, smooth cashmere that did not look hand-knit) over his head, handing it to her. "You're wet."  
  
"Well," she said sweetly, "You were the one who dragged me into the downpour."  
  
"So I did," he grinned, "Put it on. And then you won't be able to accuse me of ogling your breasts through your wet blouse and slapping me across the face."  
  
She flushed crimson and hurriedly slipped the jumper over her head. It was large... the bottom hem reached almost to her knees, and her hands except for the fingertips disappeared into the sleeves. She felt warm, though it was not just from the jumper.  
  
Flint gave her a brief nod. "Well. Now that it has been proven that Miss Perfect Prefect CAN in fact loosen up once in a while, I suggest you try it more often. If you did ever see Weasel again, he might just die of shock and you'd be doing a favour for humanity. Good night, short stuff."  
  
Even as Penelope was about to burst out with an indignant protest on Percy's behalf, he had Disapparated, leaving her alone in the rainfall that was suddenly cold on her face. Taking out her wand, she Disapparated too, hastily away from the spot.  
  
She curled up in her bed that night with a book on medical spells, and fell asleep in the middle of chapter two, still bundled up in that jumper that was far too big for her. 


	3. Spices

A/N: A HUGE thank you to Mynuet for helping me with the plottage of this chapter, and also for the gracious people who have reviewed. Frankly, it was more feedback than I thought I would get, considering the characters in question... anyway, moving onward with the fic!  
  
Disclaimer: I merely own my muses. Or do they own me? None of them are, however, named Harry Potter.  
  
~*~  
  
Certainly Marcus Flint was not the type one would expect to find in such a place. Certainly, too, he knew it.   
  
Nevertheless, the man seemed quite certain in his path, striding down a street of Muggle London, of all places, in the most simple blending-in sort of outfit imaginable, making a beeline towards the inviting entrance of a Chinese restaurant.  
  
His father, if the old bugger had known, would certainly have convulsions. Marcus seemed rather uncaring of that fact.  
  
He did notice, however, when he nearly ran over the small young woman with curly hair standing right in front of him. "'Scuse me," he started automatically, before she had looked up in surprise and then he was gazing down into her face...  
  
"Well, well... hello again, short stuff."  
  
"What are you doing here?" she flushed slightly, looking up at him. Marcus Flint. Jeans and a polo shirt. In Muggle London by a Chinese restaurant smirking down at her and calling her "short stuff". It made NO sense. Ravenclaws loved sense. But nothing had made sense with him since she'd met him at that Quidditch game.   
  
"What most people come here to do," he drawled slightly, reaching past her to push open the door. "To eat."  
  
"Me too," she said awkwardly, before cringing mentally. Goodness, that sounded STUPID! Not that she really cared what Flint thought of her, of course, but she WAS a Ravenclaw and Muggle world or no, she had...  
  
Her thoughts were cut off as a hostess in a red silk Chinese Qi Pao dress approached them, beaming. "A table for two?" the woman asked in a slightly accented voice, looking at them inquisitively.  
  
"W-we... we're not..." Penny started to stammer, before shrugging slightly and taking a deep breath, as if preparing for a battle of some sort. "All right."  
  
She could practically FEEL Flint smirking at the back of her neck as the two of them followed a hostess to a small booth by a wall.  
  
"Like Chinese food, then?" he asked her, "If I were some idiotic loser, I'd use some sort of line like 'come here often?' right around now."  
  
"Yes, I do enjoy Chinese food," Penelope sat up very straight, and then replied to his last jibe with a slightly acerbic, "Idiotic loser or no, such a line would only be used if you were interested in me in THAT way."  
  
Flint grinned and said nothing. She looked at him curiously. "How did you... er, find out about this place?"  
  
"Not telling."  
  
"You're being very difficult."  
  
"Slytherins aren't known for being... not difficult," he replied, opening up his menu. "And what might you be having today?"  
  
Penelope ordered a stir-fry with chicken and Chinese mushrooms, and Flint, with a grin, ordered crispy rice and prawns, Szechuan style.   
  
"You... like spicy food?" Again with the inane questions. But really, what was there to ask that wasn't somehow prying or too personal. Small talk tended to be boring and pointless, but they really didn't... have that much in common.   
  
"No, I'm just ordering Szechuan cuisine because I think the chili sauce is pretty and red," Flint deadpanned, "Being the complete Gryffindor-phile that you know I am..."  
  
She bit down an irate 'no need to be sarcastic!' and raised her eyebrows slightly. "Why, Flint, I hadn't realized... all those incidences on the Quidditch pitch with you fouling Katie Bell or someone in games was all just an elaborate courtship ritual!"  
  
He laughed genuinely at that, and poured her a cup of green tea. She felt herself relax slightly.  
  
The food soon arrived, and they started to eat, occasionally conversing in the sense that he made some slightly impertinent remark and she rebutted as much as she could. She was not nearly as sarcastic.  
  
She tried not to blush as she told herself fiercely that dexterity with chopsticks was NO excuse to be looking at his hands, let alone wandering in the general direction of how long it'd been since she was seeing anybody. Not at ALL.  
  
It was then that a couple at the door had noticed them. The petite, dark-haired girl gave a soft exclamation of surprise, and pointed, tugging on the arm of the tall young man. The latter smirked, and made his way over, his companion following close behind.  
  
"Good evening, Flint," the young man addressed Marcus, his baritone voice holding a hint of curiosity. "And Penelope Clearwater... what a surprise."  
  
Flint, startled, choked on a piece of hot pepper, tears coming to his eyes as he coughed violently for a few seconds. Swallowing a full cup of tea in one gulp, he spluttered as the one who addressed him helpfully thumped his back. Both he and Penny looked up sharply to see Cassius Warrington's smirking face, gazing at them in slight amusement.  
  
"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt." Both of them looked at him blankly for a moment, then comprehension dawned.  
  
"Oh, no, we're not here together. Well, not TOGETHER together. Yes, we're sharing a table, but we didn't intend to, well, we agreed to, but it's not like we had PLANS, we just met here, except it was totally---" Flint stumbled for a proper explanation.   
  
"You're babbling. And to think you used to be my Quidditch captain."  
  
"Shut up," came the toneless answer, but before Warrington could say more, his companion stepped around him, giving all people present a wide smile.  
  
"Hello, Penny," Su Li greeted the other girl softly, "How've you been?"  
  
~*~  
  
Much later on, Penelope returned to her flat alone, a rather bemused expression on her face.  
  
So the evening had been... enjoyable, in its own way. Warrington, aside from a few rather expressive looks and reasonably good-natured barbs at Marc--FLINT, had left them alone, taking sixteen-year-old Su Li to another table. They had finished eating their dinner in relative peace, with her avoiding any conversation topic that was too... uncomfortable, and sternly disciplining her mind not to wander. After the green tea ice cream and fortune cookies, they had left the restaurant together amidst farewells from both Warrington and Su (since when did sweet little Su Li hobnob in such... a close way, with a Slytherin?).   
  
Marcus had glanced at his watch, declared that he must be off, and Disapparated in an alley after giving her a friendly sort of pat on the cheek and the words, "It was fun, short stuff."  
  
She sat in her favourite armchair, trying to concentrate on one of her books, but her eyes kept straying to the jumper that he'd lent her that last time, and all of the impudence.  
  
Now, REALLY... she needed to pull herself together! Just because her experiences with him had been... somewhat unconventional, did not mean that she needed to or even SHOULD focus on them particularly.   
  
There must be something wrong with how things were if she could not focus on the reliable, secure world of books and knowledge that evening.  
  
She should really return his jumper sometime, maybe. 


	4. Potions

A/N: Chapter 4, another meeting between protagonists. And perhaps a hint that things are not always going to stay thus calm...  
  
Disclaimer: Insert witty disclaimer and dirty look here.  
  
~*~  
  
"Penelope?" The warm, slightly accented voice of Mena Patil, her trainer in Healing Draughts, addressed her. Penelope looked up at the dark-skinned woman expectantly.  
  
"I was wondering if you could run to the Apothecary for me, pick up some supplies," Mena requested quietly. "I would go myself, except for that if I do not monitor this potion closely, the drinker would be turned into an insect instead of being cured of venomous stings."  
  
Penelope smiled wryly and picked up her cloak. Taking the list that Mena handed her, and a neat roll of Galleons from a Charmed drawer, she left the lab and made her way towards the closest Apparation point.   
  
~*~  
  
Diagon Alley in August was warm, balmy and bustling with activity. With the students getting their supplies in preparation for their return to Hogwarts, the streets and shops were crowded with people of all ages. Penelope glanced at the list that she'd been handed.  
  
Her mentor, it seemed, had chosen things such as Runespoor scales and Bloodroot extract and Hippogriff down, that due to the high demand, would likely fetch a low price at this specific time. Penelope supposed that it was wise of Mena Patil to do so, and patiently stood in the line of witches and wizards by the Apothecary's door.  
  
The Apothecary was practically swelling with patrons that morning, as new students and their parents jostled each other and rustled pieces of parchment, various mothers speculating on whether the damselfly eggs would be fresh or if there would be enough bottles of distilled essence of Arnica for all. Penelope remained silent, occasionally glancing about the street or smiling vaguely at familiar faces. Lisa Turpin and Kevin Entwhistle, apparently in a spirited argument over the results of an upcoming Quidditch Game (Kevin was staunchly a fan of the Tutshill Tornadoes, whereas Lisa maintained that the Appleby Arrows were the stronger team), waved at her before ducking into Florian Fortescue's to continue their debate. Ginny Weasley, wearing a new Prefect badge, smiled at her just before walking into Flourish and Blotts.   
  
"If I were a completely daft Trelawney-type lunatic, I'd say that someone up there or down below was trying to tell me something." A male voice, deep-timbred and tinged with amusement, sounded quite close to her ear. Penelope jumped in surprise, before swivelling around and seeing Marcus Flint, gazing at her with his arms crossed over his chest. "But I don't believe in that sort of nonsense."  
  
"Er, hi, Flint," she muttered, her face heating slightly (due to the sun, honest!). "You... startled me."  
  
"Terribly sorry," he grinned, not looking sorry in the least, "Are you returning to your studies then, little Ravenclaw?"  
  
She wrinkled her nose delicately. "I'm getting some supplies for my trainer in Healing Draughts," she explained, "She has a potion to finish, and she sent me to purchase some ingredients that we're running short on. And please don't call me 'little' or 'short stuff'."  
  
"And you return to all work and no play mode," he remarked airily, "Call me something other than Flint, then."  
  
"Fine. Marcus," she said evenly, "Is that all right?"  
  
"Perfect, short stuff," he chuckled. At her look of shocked outrage, he chortled lightly. "I just told you to call me something other than Flint. I didn't make any promises not to call you 'short stuff'."  
  
"Slytherin," she groaned.  
  
"Precisely," he answered. "So, planning on camping out here all day, or at least until the throng settles down and the old hens stop haggling over the prices of phoenix feathers and doxy drool?" He seemed completely indifferent to the fact that several of the 'old hens' turned and hissed indignantly in his direction, glaring at him for that statement.  
  
Penelope felt her face heating up further. "Er, well... of course. The line will die down, I'm sure... it's a busy season, after all..."  
  
Flint-- MARCUS tutted and shook his head. "You'll be here until sunset, at this rate."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You're a very patient woman. Unnecessarily so."  
  
Penelope looked at him strangely, "Are you suggesting that I throw a hissy fit until they give me MY supplies before everyone else's just to make me go away? That wouldn't be very nice."  
  
"It would be funny as hell to watch," Flint replied with a smirk, "But believe it or not, that wasn't what I was suggesting. There ARE other places to get your things, you know."  
  
"But the Apothecary has the most quality ingredients in Diagon Alley, and these things are going to be used in Healing Potions where quality is paramount, the lack thereof potentially deadly..."  
  
"All this I know," he replied placidly, "But who said that you had to stick with Diagon Alley?"  
  
~*~  
  
Five minutes after this, a very cautious, wary Penelope Clearwater found herself being led through the shadowy main street of Knockturn Alley. Flint seemed familiar enough with the locale, but she had certainly NEVER been here before. Keeping her head down and clutching her list tightly, allowing the young man to lead her by the wrist, she barely noticed the dirty shop signs.  
  
"Don't be scared," he remarked easily, "If I had planned to offer you as a virgin sacrifice to the Dark Lord, I'd have done it ages ago. Draughts and Distillery merely has a lesser following, but I have it on very good authority that, if one has the courage to come down here, the supplies are no worse than in Diagon Alley."  
  
With that, he pushed her gently into the entrance of a dusty little shop, and Penelope raised her eyes to look around.   
  
Dusty shelves and cramped aisles, and the warlock standing at the counter looked like he'd been mauled about his face by a mad cat, but when Penelope gingerly picked up a bunch of Jobberknoll feathers, she noticed that they were sleek and clean, just the right length for memory potions. The nearby barrelful of wormwood leaves were fresh and cool to the touch, the barrel kept at the right temperature with a Cooling Charm. "Gracious..."  
  
"Solan 'Fear-Me-and-My-Perfect-Score-On-The-Potions-NEWT!' Montague told me to come here back in the day... sure saved lots of time on the shopping for horned toads and pickled innards and dead Gryffindors-- just kidding-- for Potions class."  
  
"I see," she whispered, making her way around the small shop and quickly gathering the ingredients on the list. "Er... thanks."  
  
"What's to thank?" he said jovially, watching the dim light coming through the grimy window shimmer on her brown curls, "I'm corrupting Miss Perfect on the virtues of Knockturn Alley! You can't imagine how fun this is for me."  
  
She had to laugh at that as she paid the old wizard at the counter, and when she followed him back out of the shop and out of Knockturn Alley, she felt much less afraid.  
  
Theodore Nott, skulking around Grimalkin's Grimoires, eyed the only son and heir of Death Eater Nero Flint, and his mudblood companion, for several long moments before smirking to himself and ducking out of sight. 


	5. Search

A/N: *z00mz00m* After having finished the ebil M/P collab of d00m with Ravyn yesterday, I am ecstatic and inspired to write this chapter. To the few who've been keeping track of this fic... yes, yes, finally, something aside from Happy Fun Meetings of protagonists is in order. Yay for drama and angst... within reason, of course ;)  
  
Disclaimer: If I tell you what I would do 'if I owned the Potterverse', I'd sound like some sleazy politician ('if I were your president, etc').   
  
~*~  
  
All right... so she had seen him a few times, and he'd been surprisingly pleasant. For a Slytherin and a Flint... and perhaps they shared a few interests and he'd helped her.  
  
But she was a responsible woman now. She's always been responsible, and despite a few random meetings and such, really... perhaps they could be friends of a sort. But there were things HAPPENING. The rumours of Lord Voldemort's return grew ever-stronger with each passing day, and she really didn't have TIME to get involved with anybody when there would be lots of work to come.   
  
Not that she had any thoughts of getting involved with Marcus FLINT, of all people.   
  
No, indeed...  
  
She wanted a happy, peaceful family someday, who grew up knowing both of Muggle and Wizarding worlds, and stability. She wanted someone who was a gentleman and dependable and... NICE... and she didn't want a relationship at this time anyway.  
  
And why was she thinking about it anyway?  
  
Penelope decided that she needed to return his jumper. Even if it WERE August and there was no chance that he would be wearing it. And then... her life would go back to normal, and things would be as they always had been.  
  
"Stop frowning, dearie," her mirror suddenly remarked, "Think happy thoughts!"  
  
She abruptly turned away picked his jumper off of her bed before Apparating off to work. She would find out where he lived, and then she would return it to him, and... yes. That was all.  
  
~*~  
  
Work that day was uneventful, as she bottled up vials of Dreamless Sleep Potion and put Self-Cleaning Charms on the rolls of gauze for bandages. Her trainer barely looked up when Penelope, her face slightly flushed and her voice just a bit too light, asked if she could take the afternoon off and go to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, to look up the whereabouts of an acquaintance.  
  
She forced a smile at Diana Bolton, former Hufflepuff and fellow Prefect, someone whom Penny had never liked overmuch, and asked in as polite and disinterested way as possible if she would know the whereabouts of one Marcus Flint.   
  
"Flint, Penelope darling?" Diana arched an elegantly plucked eyebrow, "He's the spokesperson for the Falcons... is there some business YOU could possibly have with him? As his secretary, I'd be GLAD to take a message for you..." she declared to her manicured fingernails, "to him."  
  
Penny bit down an uncharacteristically catty "I'm sure you would" and forced herself to keep smiling. "That won't be necessary, Diana. I need to return something to him. In person."  
  
Diana looked positively affronted, and Penelope was sure that behind the flawless makeup, the girl was pale with rage. "I see," she replied frostily, "If THAT is the case then, I'm afraid I cannot help you at all."  
  
"Would you be so kind as to tell me where I might find him?"  
  
"I wouldn't have the foggiest idea," the ash-blonde woman adjusted her golden wristwatch, "Now, is THAT all?"  
  
"Yes, thank you." Penelope sighed to herself, and turned around to walk away.   
  
"Have a good day, Penelope darling," Diana's syrupy voice floated out behind her, "I'll be sure to tell Marcus that you... were interested in seeing him, when I see him later."  
  
Penelope steeled herself to ignore the sickly sweet laughter and started to walk out of that department. So much for... that.  
  
~*~  
  
She was just about to go home and contemplate hiding the jumper in the deepest recesses of her closet, when she all but ran over a young man who was rushing down the hallway.  
  
"T-terribly sorry, miss," came a rather high male voice, "Say... you're not from this department."  
  
"No, I'm not," Penelope looked at him. He looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn't place him at the moment.  
  
He seemed to be struggling, too, to recognize her, before he brightened visibly, "Penelope Clearwater! Mediwitch at the Wasps/Falcons game! D'you remember me? Simon Capper."  
  
"Oh, hi," Penelope gave him a slight smile, "You... wait, you're M--Flint's..."  
  
"On-game assistant, yes I am," Simon declared with a wide grin. "What might you be doin' around here, Miss Clearwater?"  
  
"Oh, actually..." she halted briefly, looking at a parcel she held in her hands, "I wanted to return this to him... it's his, and I wanted to give it back to him."  
  
"Oh," Simon nodded slowly, "Well, Flint he has his day off today, so he isn't here... that Ms. Bolton's queening the lot like she owns the place, of course..." Penelope had to smile in agreement there, "But... if you want, I can floo his flat and see if he's home."  
  
Penelope thanked the young man profusely, mentally sneered (SNEERED, HER!) at Diana Bolton, and followed Simon to his small, cluttered office.  
  
~*~  
  
Marcus' floo connection was sealed shut, and Simon shook his head. "He likely ain't home, but... lemme try one more thing. He might be at his parents... sometimes visits them now and then. I'll see..."  
  
Another handful of the sparkling powder thrown into the fire, and Simon called out 'Flint Mansion' in high tones.  
  
The head of a middle-aged man with cold eyes and graying dark hair appeared in the flames, and Simon hurriedly gave a half-bow. "'Ello there, Mr. Flint."  
  
Nero Flint surveyed the young man impassively, "Is there something you need, Capper?"  
  
"Oh, I don't need anything," Simon replied hurriedly, "'S just that I've a young lady here who needs to speak to Marcus, and I was wondering if he was at your place."  
  
"A young lady?" Nero raised an eyebrow, but his face was still otherwise completely unreadable, "And who might that be?"  
  
"Come over here, Miss Clearwater," Simon waved his arm at her. Penelope slowly walked forward, and Nero turned his gaze towards her.  
  
"Er, good afternoon, sir," she said quietly, "I... wish to speak to Marcus, if he's around?"  
  
The head in the flames didn't speak for a few seconds, before the thin lips finally curved upwards slightly. "He's not in the room, currently," Nero drawled out in a smooth voice, "But I would welcome you in through here... if you will just floo over, and then I will gladly lead you to him."  
  
"All right," Simon grinned for her, and pushed a handful of floo powder into her palm. "There you go, Miss Clearwater!"  
  
Feeling as if it were all a bit sudden, Penelope dubiously threw the floo powder into the fire, just as Flint Senior's head disappeared, and called out 'FLINT MANSION' as she stepped into the green blaze.  
  
~*~  
  
She stepped out into a darkened office... or what SEEMED to be an office, though with the heavy velvet draperies completely shutting out the sunlight and the only illumination coming from a candle several feet away, propped up on a book, she was unsure.   
  
"Lumos," she whispered, peering over the small ball of light her wand formed, "Er, hello? Mr. Flint... Marcus?"  
  
She had only a moment to hear a shout of PETRIFICUS TOTALUS before she fell, immobile, to the ground. 


	6. The Dark

A/N: Yes, yes, I know, evil cliffhanger last chapter. I'll resolve things-- to an extent-- over here in this chapter ;) Thanks to those who reviewed as always.  
  
Disclaimer: I own a few minions, but no characters, sorry.  
  
~*~  
  
Her head was throbbing-- when she had fallen, there had been nothing to cushion the blow, and when her captor had finally stepped into the light, she would have gasped, if she could.  
  
Nero Flint had looked a bit remote, but gentlemanly in a somewhat imposing way in the green fire of a floo connection. But right now, in the white harsh wandlight, his face was brutish, twisted into something sinister, the eyes glittering hard as they swept over her frozen form. Even under a full Body-Bind, she could feel the pain as he yanked her up by the arms, thick fingers digging into her flesh.  
  
There came the smell of alcohol and something bitter as he peered into her face, that awful leer frozen in place. "One Mudblood down," came the words, spoken almost to himself, "And who knows how many to go?" Penelope felt her scalp crinkle.  
  
And then she was being levitated in the air, her arm hitting sharp corners but lips frozen shut and unable to call out, even if someone could hear. Nero kicked the door to the room open, and then she was going down a wide, cold hallway.   
  
There was nothing but the tap-tap-tap of footsteps, her captor's, going up one hallway and down another. Penelope's sleeve caught onto the drawn sword of a tarnished suit of armour, and the fabric tore under the blade, a red line of pain appearing on the pale arm that she couldn't move out of the way. Nero watched in a sort of cruel detachment as the young woman's eyes watered a bit with the sudden pain, a sneer on his thin lips.  
  
"That is the only suiting place for your vile blood, wretched Muggle spawn," he hissed, low in his throat, "On the edge of a weapon... a Pureblood's weapon." And then he continued levitating her, now moving towards another door.  
  
The door suddenly opened, and Penelope would have cried out for help had she been able. But the person who stepped out suddenly spoke, and her voice was icy and thin.  
  
"Let me have a look at her."  
  
Nero dropped her down onto the floor, and Penelope found herself looking up into a sharp-featured face. A woman, obviously the lady of the house, dark hair pulled back in a severe bun reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. Except there was a difference between strictness and heartlessness, and the woman was the latter. It was disconcerting to see Marcus' eyes on THIS face, staring at her with a look most reserved for the foulest of vermin.  
  
"Common features, a vacant expression," Clytemnestra Flint remarked flatly, "As Mudbloods are wont to be. No wonder our son picked her out so easily."  
  
Nero made a noise in agreement. "Our son has done well. I think that the little Mudblood..." here he bent down and ran a greasy finger down Penelope's pale cheek, "Might even have considered him a FRIEND."  
  
Then, he levitated Penelope once again, and her cut arm hit the wall of a narrow staircase as he took her down to some dark cellar-like place.  
  
But with the brief exchange of words between Nero and Clytemnestra, Penelope's mind was no longer on physical pain as ice slowly began to build, filling her insides.  
  
There was the creak of rusty iron, and then she was dumped into a cell. Nero pocketed her wand, secured a lock around the bars, and released her from the Body Bind...  
  
A moving prisoner would be much more entertaining.  
  
~*~  
  
It was cold in the dungeon, and the air was dank. The only light came from a torch of red fire that hung against a distant wall, and Penelope curled up into a ball against the corner, one cold hand clamped over the gash in her arm.   
  
"Don't be scared. If I had planned to offer you as a virgin sacrifice to the Dark Lord, I'd have done it ages ago..."  
  
His voice rang out in her head, the light, teasing tone seeming sinister when she thought about it HERE, and she shivered, not completely due to the cold. She didn't WANT it to be true. She didn't WANT...  
  
But what else was there to believe?  
  
She still held his jumper in the package under her arm, but though she was shivering, she cast it aside.   
  
Finally, it was exhaustion that forced her to close her eyes.  
  
~*~  
  
Marcus returned to his flat that evening after a visit to Hogwarts to find his father seated on his couch.  
  
Nero greeted his son with a pleased sort of almost-smile. "You've done well for our cause, boy."  
  
Marcus had the grace to look suitably flattered and nonplussed. "Oh?"  
  
"The girl?" Nero drawled, "That little Mudblood. Clearwater."  
  
"What about her?" the son kept his voice carefully neutral and his expression blank. That his father would know about her, and be CONGRATULATING him... Marcus's fists tightened in his pockets.  
  
"For luring her over, of course," Nero explained in a slightly exasperated tone of voice, as if to remind a dimwitted pupil, "She came over today, looking for you. Wasn't that your PLAN?"  
  
Marcus remained silent for a full three seconds before saying rather flatly, "But of course it was, father. I assume that you have taken care of her?"  
  
"She's being kept in the dungeons, as befits one of her... station," Nero replied, before his face broke into a sneer. "I do think the little girl believed that you were her FRIEND, up until now."  
  
"Of course, I see," Marcus replied. "Is there anything else?"  
  
"Of course not," Nero answered, "I just wanted to let you know that we have taken care to finish what you started. Your mother sends her regards."  
  
Marcus glanced at his watch, "All right, then. Er, if you'll excuse me, father. I had some plans this evening."  
  
"I'm leaving anyway, boy," Nero snapped, "Go on and... do whatever you need to do."  
  
The two men Disapparated at almost the same time.  
  
~*~  
  
Cassius Warrington was just about to leave his office when there came the sound of banging on the door. "WHAT?" the young man called out irritably, "I'm going HOME..."  
  
"Open up, Warrington," Flint barked out, "I need a bit of help."  
  
The door opened to reveal Warrington's face, which changed from irritated to alarmed at his former captain's expression. "Seems something more serious than 'how to get a bird'."  
  
"Surprised you would say that," Flint groaned, "It's... Penelope Clearwater, and my parents, and..." Briefly, he told Warrington what he had learned from his father. "...And OBVIOUSLY, I can't just keep her there. But breaking her out would have some consequences as well."  
  
"And I come into this situation... how?" Warrington asked dubiously, eyeing Flint.  
  
"You're disgustingly rich, pureblood, but from the sort of company you keep, rather unlikely to have connections to the like of my father. Therefore, you're in a position to help me."  
  
"Wonderful that you have such expectations of both my powers and my willingness," Warrington remarked drolly, "All right. You owe me one."  
  
"Consider my not letting Li's parents know that you're robbing the cradle your thanks," Flint snarled.  
  
"No can do," Warrington smirked, "I've met Li's parents, they know... somewhat... of my dealings with her, and they adore me blindly to the point that I am commended for being such a good influence on her character."  
  
"Any suspicions I might have had about the fact that she is Muggleborn are now non-existent," Flint muttered, "Only someone who's never heard of Hogwarts can say THAT sort of thing about a SLYTHERIN. I'm off. Stay here til I'm back."  
  
And then he left as quickly as he had come, probably to Disapparate to his parents' mansion. Warrington was left staring bemusedly at the door.  
  
"The fascination of Muggleborn Ravenclaw witches seems to be contagious. This could get a bit... interesting."  
  
~*~  
  
That Marcus would want to see his prisoner was not surprising, so when he entered the enchanted room where the keys were kept, the House-Elves said nothing. Marcus directed them en masse to clean up the west library two floors up and on the other side of the house, and they scattered. Eyes narrowed, he quickly picked out the ring of enchanted keys for the Dungeons, and headed for the stairs.  
  
By nothing but wandlight, he peered into the slimy cold cells, empty, empty, empty... except one rather far from the entrance, where against the wall huddled a small figure with a nest of tangled curls, blouse and skirt dusty. Her breath came out in small puffs of steam in the cold air, and she seemed to be asleep. Silently cursing, Marcus fitted the key into the lock, muttered a spell for silence, and slowly slid the bars open.  
  
He noticed a package somewhat close by to her on the ground, and mindlessly picked it up, tucking it under her limp arm before lifting HER up and making his way out of the dungeon.  
  
He had just Apparated away from the mansion and to the entranceway of Warrington's building when she opened her eyes.  
  
"Keep quiet until we're inside," he cut her off before she could speak, "Let's hope that the bastard has a bath in here somewhere..."  
  
Nothing made sense, but she was cold and he was holding her and she was really too tired to argue right now.  
  
Unconsciously, she leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. The fact that something inside of her decided to trust him now didn't even factor into her consciousness.   
  
Somewhere in the edges of her hazy brain, she thought she heard him give a sigh. And then he'd shut a door behind them and a comforting, warm sort of darkness enveloped her. 


	7. Hiding

A/N: In this chapter, we get to see how exactly Warrington helps his former captain and said former captain's... ah well, you'll see ;) Thanks lots to those who have read/reviewed, and I hope that this chapter will be up to standard. An especial big thanks and glomp goes out to Skyloff for helping me plot (and come up with names) for this chapter.   
  
Disclaimer: I'll refrain from making some incriminating remarks about Warrington ownership and go sulk in the corner.   
  
~*~  
  
Suddenly, there was the sound of another door opening, and then there was light. A muted light, but brighter than the dungeon. Penelope slowly opened her eyes even as Marcus said something unclear to the blurry figure of another tall figure, also male, who had been the one to open the door.  
  
"Bloody hell, she looks a bit... less than immaculate."  
  
"Well forgive me, Mr. Fastidious," Marcus snapped, "I was rather more concerned with getting her the hell out of the fucking dungeon to somewhere safe than to shower her with rosewater and patchouli essential oils!"  
  
A couch, rich dark leather, and a spacious L-shaped desk... black. A bookshelf and a few leather chairs. It looked like someone's office. The light came from a lamp on the desk. Drapes, half-open, that seemed to shimmer dark green, though it was rather hard to tell. Carpet of a slightly lighter shade of green, and white walls, no decoration except for a strangely Oriental-looking painting of a phoenix.   
  
No, she had no idea where she was, so she tried to place the faces instead.   
  
Marcus-- Flint--- MARCUS was laying her down onto the couch, and the other man was watching... Warrington?  
  
"Where am I?" she asked, her throat slightly dry.  
  
"My office," Warrington answered, "The pillock over there decided to break you out of a dungeon and bring you here until it is figured out how to hide you from his loving parents, who are undoubtedly going to be after their escaped prisoner."  
  
The pillock snarled something, and then frowned. "Do you have any Healing implements around here, Warrington? She's bleeding on her arm."  
  
Warrington dug into a drawer in the enormous desk, and came up with a Healer's kit. Rifling through it, he found a roll of gauze and a vial of Healing potion, and handed both to Flint.  
  
The latter was now looking at Penny, his expression unreadable, his eyes boring into hers. "I'm going to cut away this sleeve to get to the cut," he told her, and almost before she'd nodded, he had sliced the sleeve away with a Severing Charm. Even as he moved the gauze, sodden with Healing Potion, towards the cut on her arm, she flushed slightly.   
  
The cut disappeared, and Marcus stood back up. His eyes were narrowed in anger. "What were you THINKING, short stuff?"  
  
Even as Warrington raised an eyebrow curiously at the name, Penny looked at Marcus in confusion. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You went over to my parent's house!" Marcus growled, "A MUGGLEBORN in Flint Mansion! If you wanted to find ME, why the deuce didn't you owl me? Remember getting attacked the year the blasted Chamber was open? Do you think that was an ACCIDENT or something!? I hate to break it to you, but if you don't remember that your heritage is despised by some people in this world..."  
  
Penny only shook her head numbly. Warrington cleared his throat, "Well, seeing as to how she IS Muggleborn, it's probably not the case that she knows who is who in the political arena of the Magical world like you do."  
  
"Well, now she does," Flint scowled, "And I've just plucked her from the dungeons. Suffice it to say that it's death on sight for her... and for me, if parents find out."  
  
Penny slowly sat up, her face pale with alarm. "But... your parents wouldn't... just because you let..."  
  
"Yes, they would," Flint cut her off, "It has been established tonight that you do not know my parents. They would."  
  
"Then why did you not just leave me in there?" the question was out before she could stop it, perhaps because the arbitrary, patronizing tone he'd been using was ruffling her feathers more than she cared to admit (where was the carefree fellow who'd eaten with her and taken her down Knockturn and... enough of THAT).   
  
"What do you MEAN, why?" Flint snarled, his face contorted with aggravation, "I don't HATE you. You don't deserve what would have happened, Muggleborn or not. Hell, not even Oliver bloody WOOD deserves... though he comes rather closer than you do."  
  
"Oh," she said quietly, sinking back into the couch. Somehow, the answer wasn't quite what she wanted to hear, but before she could think about it, Warrington had spoken up again.  
  
"So now, you two are more or less fugitives... and would need to go into hiding, of a sort. Any plans?"  
  
Penelope gave him a blank look, the idea completely not computing in her head, but Flint heaved a sigh. "I can stop by Gringott's and withdraw some money... I'm not sure. Fidelius Charm? But... that would take far more planning. Penelope could disappear into the Muggle world, I suppose... if she's willing..."  
  
Warrington paused. "Muggle world..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You could BOTH go into the Muggle world," Warrington clarified. "She could blend in easily enough, knowing what it's like. As for you... well. Last thing your parents would expect would be for their son and heir, brought up in exclusively magical society, would deign to associate with Muggles in such close proximity. Not to mention, whatever influence they do have here certainly does not extend to over there, and to search you out would be far more difficult than they could, here."  
  
For the first time that long evening, Flint finally allowed himself a grim sort of smile.  
  
"But before any further planning, I think that your bird should be escorted to the nearest bath, so she can get cleaned up," Warrington said thoughtfully, before clapping his hands. A House-Elf in a neat tea towel appeared, bowing over Warrington's shoes before peering upward with inquisitive bulbous eyes.  
  
"Palter, show Miss Clearwater here to the upper-floor bath?" Warrington requested, "And then, after she's done, get her a fresh set of clothes. Muggle clothing, not robes, and some food. After she's done, bring her back here, if you please."  
  
Palter bowed repeatedly to Warrington, before turning to Penelope. "Would Miss Clearwater please follow Palter here to bath? Palter is make Miss Clearwater comfortable and happy yes Palter is... Master Warrington is say so and what Master says, Palter do..."  
  
Penelope accepted a hand from Marcus to pull her to her feet, and followed the spindly little House-Elf out of the office.   
  
~*~  
  
It was a good hour and a half later when Penelope returned, clean and refreshed, and by the time she was back, Warrington was putting away a rather thick book. There was a valise resting on the ground by his desk. Marcus was casting an anti-theft charm on a thick wad of Muggle currency.  
  
"I don't think that's legal," Warrington remarked idly.   
  
"Sod that," came the ever-so-elegant reply, before Marcus looked up. "Well, short stuff, it seems as though we're going to make a run for it."  
  
"We... as in... together, you and me?" her eyes widened, and she shifted her gaze from Marcus' face to Warrington's, unsure if she was looking for a rebuttal of a confirmation.  
  
"Well, you did enter the mess together," Warrington smirked slightly, "And ickle Flinteypooh might need some guidance in proper Muggle behaviour anyhow."  
  
She dropped down onto the couch. "But..."  
  
"We might as well learn to get along, Miss Perfect," Marcus cut in, his voice somewhat harsh. "It's for the best."  
  
It would be easier to get along with him if he weren't... so peevish-sounding, Penelope decided. But she kept silent, though she narrowed her eyes.  
  
"How are you two going to travel together, though?" Warrington asked them idly, "I'm working on procuring false identities for you two, and that would mean different names."  
  
At the same time that Penelope hurriedly said 'siblings', Marcus grunted something that sounded like 'roommates'. Warrington looked appraisingly at both, before shaking his head with a smirk.  
  
"How about married couple?"  
  
Now Penelope and Marcus simultaneously burst out with the same thing. "WHAT!?" Two outraged shouts, one male, one female, rang out in the office. Warrington held out a hand.  
  
"Well, really. It isn't as though you're actually going to need to marry. But roommates of the opposite sex are rather more noticeable. Everyone would assume that you two were just living in sin anyway. And as for siblings... no offense, Flint, but she's too pretty to be related to you."  
  
"None taken," Flint muttered, "And you've a point, you smarmy bastard."  
  
"I'm one for making them," Warrington looked pleased with himself, even as he pulled out several sheets of parchment and started writing on them. "Mr. Nathaniel George Fasulo, aged 23, and Mrs. Alexa Eve Edwards-Fasulo, aged 22..." A wave of his wand, and everything from Muggle passports to birth certificates and a marriage certificate appeared where the parchments once lay. Warrington grinned rather cockily, before turning to Marcus and Penelope. "Well then, all I have to do is change your appearance a little bit..."  
  
"I don't trust you one whit," Marcus quickly replied, taking a step back.  
  
"As well you shouldn't," Warrington grinned, "But you've no choice. Dissimulo Voltus!"  
  
A bang, and when Marcus opened his eyes, it seemed that neither of them changed. "Wha---?"  
  
"You still appear the same to each other, and so on and so forth. But take a look." Casting a quick reflection spell on the wall so that it became a temporary mirror, he indicated for the two to turn around.  
  
Dead silence for a few moments, and then Marcus gave a growl. "YOU EVIL BASTARD, YOU MADE ME BLOND!"  
  
"...Why, yes," Warrington grinned, "Is there something wrong with that? I'm quite pleased with myself, really. Nathaniel Fasulo looks far better than you ever did." 


	8. Rest

A/N: Muhahaha. And yes, this shall be fun. Marcus and Penelope living as Muggles, TOGETHER. The pretense and the UST make for a happy Thalia, and hopefully happy reader(s) as well.   
  
Disclaimer: No, I don't own blond!Marcus either ;)  
  
~*~  
  
That evening they had spent in a Muggle inn, a small room with one double-bed and a ratty little sofa. Penelope had silently shoved the correct pieces of identification that Warrington had made for them at the man at the counter, who had then given her a grin and a key in an envelope.  
  
"Room 102," she muttered, "Well then, let's go."  
  
He picked up the suitcase of 'essentials' that had been packed hastily, and followed her down a corridor. She was walking very stiffly, and it was obvious from her carefully polite expression that she wasn't pleased with getting into this predicament, either. Though Marcus did not see how SHE would have the right to complain. SHE had not been turned into a blonde.  
  
She had opened the door a crack after unlocking it, then flinched. Married couple.  
  
"Are you just going to stand there, DARLING?" he had remarked, and his voice would have seemed tender without the jarring note of mockery. "I'm tired."  
  
She straightened up even more and walked into the room. "There's only one bed."  
  
"Good! They HAVE a bed!" he grinned, "Let's sleep."  
  
She shut the door behind them, then turned to face him with a stony expression. "Marcus, whatever your friend disguised us as, we're NOT really married."  
  
Marcus was tired, the room smelled like some sort of Muggle smoke, and she was being so straitlaced and proper that her former Weasel paramour would probably seem like a reprobate in comparison. "Sod that," came his voice, "'S not like I'm actually going to shag you. It's large enough that I won't even touch you."  
  
She wordlessly moved over to the closet, pulled out an extra pillow and blanket, shoved both into his arms, and pointed at the tiny couch.   
  
"That thing's MINUTE!" he roared, glaring at her, "Why don't YOU take it?"  
  
"Either that or the bathtub," she said stolidly, unmoved by his distress. "We're not married. You're not sleeping with me."  
  
And then she proceeded to take her wand (which he'd found in his father's study and should never had returned to her), cast a ward around the bed, and laid herself down after removing her shoes. And then she had the audacity to call out a muffled "Good night, Marcus" through the medium of pillows and blankets.  
  
Exploring the inhumanly small loo and noticing the drip in the bathtub faucet, he made his way towards the small couch instead, muttering discontentedly about mad bed-hogging bints under his breath and swearing revenge at the next opportunity. Do not mess with the Slytherins, for they never forget an insult or injury. And furthermore, pretty girls were not allowed to be bed-hogs. If that wasn't a rule in the Slytherin Handbook of proper behaviour, he'd be sure that it would get added in after this whole ruddy run-and-hide insanity was over.  
  
~*~  
  
Two hours later found him sitting up on the stupid couch with a crick in the neck and a nearly-murderous expression on his face. There was a huge crick in his neck, no sultry women in skimpy robes to massage it out, and his feet dangled over the edge of the couch. Damn her, anyway. Why did SHE have to get the bed? SHE might have fit on the couch, but nooo... silly bed-hogging wench...  
  
All discontented grumblings died down when the small lump in the bed stirred and uttered what seemed to be a little moan.  
  
Marcus threw his hands up in the air and stalked over, scowling. Dear Merlin, she had the blasted BED... why wasn't she sleeping either?!  
  
"No... can't..." she murmured incoherently, small hands clenching around her pillowcase. There was nothing but the rusty bars of a dungeon cell and cold and pain. She shivered slightly and burrowed deeper into her covers. She was not awake.  
  
Marcus stared at the girl, rather bemused, not comprehending what she was babbling or why she was shivering when she had the BED... and he couldn't even really hear what she was saying anyway. Standing up exhaustedly from his spot on the couch, he trudged over towards the bed, rubbing his stiff neck with one hand.  
  
The ward she'd placed around it crackled as he got closer, but he drew his wand and set about undoing the thing. Silly girl... as if a little repelling charm would have stopped him, had he had the intention to misbehave. She shrank back deeper into the nest of blankets, but didn't wake. There were beads of sweat on her forehead. He leaned over, confused.  
  
"No... I need... get out of here..." she mumbled, shrinking back, "Not... dungeon..."  
  
"Woman, will you kindly be quiet so that I can get some sleep?"  
  
She didn't seem to hear him, and tossed restlessly, flinging her arm outward and lying on her back now. Her brows were furrowed, and he made an effort to keep his gaze upon her face, and not how her blouse stretched... well. Anyway... what was SHE yammering about?  
  
"No, Mr. Flint... not... I need to..."  
  
Mr. Flint? Bloody whiskers of Merlin... she wasn't talking about HIM, was she? Feeling decidedly uneasy, he reached out a hand and gingerly rested it on her shoulder. "Er, shor-- Penelope?"  
  
Touching her proved to be a dangerous and bad idea, for she abruptly turned over once again, now clinging to his arm like she'd clung to the pillow earlier. She was still shivering. "Can't stay in dungeon... please let me out... please..."  
  
A NIGHTMARE. Feeling rather stupid for not having figured it out earlier, Marcus reached his free hand over to pat her head. "All right, short stuff. Stop talking. You're not in the damned dungeon any more. I want to sleep. Now let go of my arm..."  
  
She mumbled something incomprehensible and turned over, pulling his arm with her and causing him to hit his knee rather painfully against the nightstand. Swearing under his breath and bent over her, he glared at the little woman who was proving to be something of a hellion. "Damn it all, girl, if you wanted me in your bed, why didn't you just SAY so instead of doing it in such a roundabout manner? I could've been sleeping HOURS ago..."  
  
And then she shivered again, still clinging to his arm like she was drowning and he was the rope that would pull her to safety.   
  
He pondered this situation for a few moments. Of course, he COULD forcibly yank his arm out of her death-grip, probably waking her in the process. He would get hexed for his pains as she would believe that he was about to commit acts of unspeakable evil upon her person, and probably made to sleep in the bathtub so as to not even be in the same room as her. There were really no benefits to that plan.   
  
On the other hand, if he just lay down, there would be a bed to sleep in, and no crick in the neck in the morning. And she couldn't blame him or hex him, because she PULLED him in. And then he could tease her and watch her blush, and it would provide him with endless amounts of amusement and pleasure. Of course, sleeping with her (in a relatively innocent sense) had its own appeals, but this was completely beside the point.   
  
He smirked slightly and lay down next to her, laughing inwardly when she nearly burrowed into his arms.  
  
~*~  
  
He awoke the next morning to the sound of a small, shrill shriek, close to his ear. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he blinked and turned around to see her staring at his face in horror.  
  
"I didn't shag you, you pulled me in, and it's the crack of dawn. For heaven's sake, short stuff, lie back down and let me finish the happy fun dream I was having about veela and chocolate sauce..."  
  
He stubbornly turned over, closed his eyes and went back to sleep, cuddling a pillow. Penelope stared at his rumpled dark hair, biting her lip.  
  
What disturbed her the most wasn't that he was in her bed, or even that she believed what he told her. It was the fact that she wasn't about to cast him out onto the floor.   
  
Pulling the blanket up to her chin, Penelope decided that perhaps it WAS indeed too early to think, for obviously she wasn't doing it in a rational manner, and shut her eyes once more. 


	9. Dining

A/N: Yes, on ficcing spree still. Finals coming up, so no one should be surprised. Writing helps me cope, etc. etc. etc. Hopefully this is a good thing, and that what is spouting underneath my fingertips isn't a load of crap XD Big thanks and glomps to Mynuet and Akasha for helping with the plottage and help, of course. 333  
  
Disclaimer: Blah blah no own blah blah blah. Can you tell that I'm not in the mood for witty disclaimers now?  
  
~*~  
  
When they did truly get out of bed, Penelope was rather quiet and blushing a bit, avoiding his eyes. They checked out of the inn, her taking the wad of bills from him and counting out the correct amount (as he was unused to the idea of anyone using what looked like cheap parchment for currency, and didn't really know the denominations of the bills anyway). She gave a forced smile to the woman at the register, then seized Marcus by the hand and led him out of the inn.  
  
As soon as they were outside she started talking very rapidly. "All right, now we need to find a flat or a house. With TWO BEDROOMS."  
  
"Yes, yes, by all means," he replied with a roll of his eyes, "After all, DARLING... they sure make their couches small around here."  
  
Penelope bought a newspaper with unmoving pictures and moved directly to view a section that seemed to be full of advertisements, and proceeded to spend the next hour and a half sitting in a cafe table, across from him, completely incommunicative and letting the coffee that he so-nicely bought for her grow cold as she muttered to herself and circled random advertisements with a strange writing utensil that she called a 'pencil'.  
  
Later on, after drinking her cold coffee and thanking him absently, she pulled him onto a bus that was visible to everyone and handed the conductor a few coins, telling the man their destination. Marcus remained silent, wondering quite seriously if he was supposed to play a role similar to security troll: strong and silent and very, very stupid.  
  
She spent another hour bargaining and batting her eyelashes at an old greasy bloke, saying things like "orderly" and "young" and "newlywed" and a whole lot of jargon that was supposed to save them money. Finally, when she seemed satisfied, she shoved a paper towards him and told him to use another odd Muggle writing utensil (which she called a pen, even though it didn't resemble a lodging for pigs in the least) to sign. And then more money was grabbed out of his hands and handed to the greasy old man.  
  
It appeared to be the case that she would be the one doing the talking, he would be the one dispensing the pieces of cheap parchment, and they had barely the time to set down their things in the flat (and he to complain about the ugly colour of the drapes) before she sweetly told him that they needed to go to the market and buy food to cook for lunch.  
  
...Cook?  
  
He got a terrible, terrible feeling about the whole situation when she pulled him by the arm up from the couch of their new flat and out the door once again.  
  
~*~  
  
They walked out of what was apparently a residential district and into a commercial one, where several shops were visible. Marcus looked around with a mix of curiosity and almost-apprehension at the unmoving signs as Penelope steered him towards a 'supermarket'. "Can you cook?" she whispered quietly as they walked in, by all appearances a Muggle couple going for their weekly grocery shopping.  
  
His blank look was all the answer she needed, and she sighed deeply before taking a trolley at the door. "You'll learn."  
  
He really wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that.   
  
"Well, I think that will be enough food for the week," she suddenly remarked in a placid voice. gesturing her trolley. "Thankfully, things here are not too expensive."  
  
"Then can we go?"   
  
She laughed, eyes glinting amusedly up into his face. "No, of course not. We need to buy other necessities. Don't you think that we'd need things to cook the food IN? Not to mention, things like paper, or utensils, or linens and things like that. Come on."  
  
Sighing deeply, he followed her towards another section of the store.  
  
~*~  
  
Marcus eyed the towels on the shelf critically. Pastel blue, pastel peach, pastel yellow, ruddy pastel pink, white... did they not have anything in non-girly colours?! Deciding to charm HIS forest green as soon as he got back to the flat they had purchased, he picked up two white ones and set them idly on top of the bag of oranges and the shallow metal skillet thing.   
  
"Check out that redhead," a voice sounded rather close by, as two young men (both of whom looked about seventeen) walked into the aisle. The one who had spoken was standing rather close to Marcus. "Very... well-endowed." Snigger. "I'd love to be her blouse."  
  
Never one to pass an opportunity to see an attractive bird, Marcus discreetly turned his head away from the towels to look at who the boys were talking about. However, it was quickly apparent that the object of admiration was none other than a certain short perfectionist bed hog, who was cheerfully looking at pillowcases.  
  
He had turned to the boys with the same glare he'd always shot Quidditch rivals on the pitch, fists clenched, and before he quite knew what he was going about, snarled out a menacing, "I'd suggest you keep your eyes focused on something else, lads, and civil tongues in your heads."  
  
"Hey, we're just joshing," the other boy declared, a bit defensively, "Nothing wrong with eyeing a pretty girl, and that one's a looker over there."  
  
"She's off limits," Marcus found himself growling, "She's..." OH, sod it all... "Mine."  
  
Seeing the blond man's frigid glare, the two cads decided that a hasty apology and retreat was called for, and Marcus allowed himself a satisfied smirk before he turned around... and found himself face to face (or perhaps more accurately chest to nose) with the object of dispute.  
  
There was no way that she could have not heard the exchange. Forcing a stoic expression, he remarked in the blandest voice he could muster, "Now, are you done?"  
  
"Yes, DEAR," she said sweetly, "I'm sure that you must be starving by now."  
  
He wondered warily, by the overly pleased look on her face, whether he should be wary of her poisoning his food.  
  
~*~  
  
"All right, all right," he muttered irritably, "I've carried it in. All of it. Without Banishing Charms, even. Is this some sort of punishment?"  
  
"No, Marcus," she said serenely, "Now, put on an apron and help me make lunch."  
  
An apron? One of those frilly white fabric things with the loopy 'Kiss the chef' writing on the chest? She put hers on, and gave him an expectant look. "If you don't, I'll put it on you myself."  
  
His eyebrows shot up at that. "Really... and how do you propose to... subdue me?"  
  
She flushed darkly, and he threw her a leer. "Never thought you had THAT sort of tendency, short stuff."  
  
"Just... never mind. But if you get your clothes dirty, YOU will be washing them." She thrust the apron at him.  
  
"But who said that I was going to cook?" he glared at her, "That's..."  
  
"What?" she gave him a challenging stare, "If you're about to say women's work, I'd like to inform you that there's more than one use for a skillet."  
  
"I was about to say 'House Elves'," he muttered resentfully.  
  
"We don't have any, we're not getting any, and if you do not cook your food, you are not going to eat."   
  
If Penelope had thought that successfully coercing him into an apron meant cooperation for the rest of the cooking adventure, she was sadly mistaken. Not two minutes had passed when a tiny floweret of broccoli had flown through the air and lodged in her hair.  
  
His face was too innocent and disinterested to be real when she'd glanced over. Gritting her teeth, she doggedly continued mixing a marinade for the chicken.   
  
With the addition of each successive spice and ingredient came something else flying her way, and the-- the complete PRAT was starting to smile.  
  
She had just put the chicken in the oven when there was a soft, small puff of white, and a bit of flour settled into her hair. When she whirled around to confront him, he wasn't even attempting to hide it, and raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Oh, that DOES it!" she exclaimed, snatching a handful of flour for herself. "You... you..." She viciously threw the handful of white powder at him, as hard as she could, and felt herself smirking, actually SMIRKING, when it hit him in the face.   
  
"Are you sure you want to go THIS way, Clearwater?" he called out, "Remember my position on the House team!" Another handful of flour, this time hitting her on the shoulder.   
  
"STOP being such a pest!" she shrieked, but she was giggling. Before long, the kitchen was smoky white as flour flew back and forth, and though she was getting covered in flour, though the meal certainly WASN'T getting made, and though he was being a complete... PRAT didn't even come close, she was laughing and it was just like that time in the pub.   
  
He threw another handful of flour at her, and she snatched the bag towards her to retaliate, but the bag was completely empty. Panting, she reached for a nearby cucumber and brandished it in a way that would have been threatening had she not been laughing and flecked all over with white powder. "Stop it! I swear! If you come any closer, Marcus, I'll bludgeon you to death!"  
  
He suddenly paused, eyes boring into hers, one hand reaching out to grab the other end of the cucumber. The cloud of flour that had filled the kitchen was slowly settling, and there was some dusting her long eyelashes. A streak across a rapidly reddening cheek as he pulled on the cucumber, and then she was right in front of him, and he was sure the warmth in the kitchen wasn't JUST due to the oven.  
  
"Are you sure," he started slowly, setting down the cucumber and moving his hand up to tuck a loose wisp of her hair behind her ear, "That you want to do that?"  
  
"I..." Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into his eyes and felt a tide of heat rise over her face, whether from embarrassment or something else, she wasn't sure. He leaned a bit closer and her mind flashed through a thousand scenarios before it realized that her body had moved itself several feet away, while her mouth had blurted out, "I have to go wash my face right now."  
  
And then she fled from the kitchen, even as the oven timer went off.  
  
Marcus was left alone in the very messy kitchen, flour in his hair, and a very annoying buzzing sound coming from the oven.  
  
~*~  
  
One... two... three neatening spells, and the flour was off of her face, hair and clothes. Penelope leaned against the towel rack of the loo, staring wide-eyed into the mirror.  
  
It reflected a rather pretty redhead, slightly slanted dark eyes (was Warrington thinking of Su, perhaps?), pale skin, medium height. She had heard those boys making those comments, and Marcus snapping at them.  
  
But that was not truly her, and they weren't really married or anything. Just two people who got into a mess together and were now on the run to escape certain death.  
  
She wasn't the pretty redhead in the mirror, and she was just being silly thinking about all this anyway. She would just come out and pretend that none of it happened, and... yes.  
  
The kitchen was spotless when she returned, and he was levitating the chicken out of the open oven door. Her eyes followed the platter to the table, then turned back to face him. "I'm..." What, though? Sorry for running off? Scared of the odd effect he seemed to have on her, to make her giggly like a child one moment and unbearably nervous the next? Grateful that he had the sense to clean the mess they'd made of the kitchen and take the chicken out of the oven before it burnt to a crisp?  
  
"A Ravenclaw, short stuff," he drawled, standing up at his full height and staring down at her with that disquieting intensity once again. "I thought you lot were supposed to be the literate ones."  
  
She blinked, looking up at him. "What do you mean?"  
  
He pointed to the apron, the words 'Kiss the Chef' emblazoned upon his chest. "Well?"  
  
She flushed darkly, "But you're not the chef. I made the chicken. You spent the time making a mess in the kitchen."  
  
"I'm still wearing the apron that YOU made me put on," he maintained smugly.  
  
"...Fine," she straightened her shoulders, stood up on tiptoe, and brushed her lips quickly against his cheek. "Don't get any ideas, Marcus. And if you'll excuse me, I have to set the table."  
  
It was only after the tense, silent meal that she remembered... just as she could see through the disguise that Warrington had placed on him, he could see her as she really was. 


	10. Work

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed, your feedback was greatly appreciated by my inner review whore :) Yes, been a bit busy with such things as finals, etc... but hey, fic continues to ensue. I forgot to mention last chapter, though, a big thank you to Loopily for the invaluable Brit-picking and helping my uncultured self remain true to the country in which HP takes place.   
  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. And with finals, I do not have time to shag anything either.  
  
~*~  
  
There was about a week of getting accustomed to their living conditions, and then the decision arose, somehow, that perhaps they should get some work. Perhaps it was after Penelope bought a piano and decided to give lessons to any number of small Muggle children. Marcus decided that he did not like sitting around watching small Muggle children take up all her attention. Even IF she was earning money. And then there was the fact that it made him feel vaguely lazy. Miss Perfect would disapprove, he was sure...  
  
She had been pleased to hear that he wanted to get a job, and between her smiles and cheerful suggestions and excited ramblings she'd told him that she was proud of him and given him a rather impulsive hug.  
  
He might have been inclined to take advantage of the fact had she not rapidly pulled away and escaped to the kitchen, saying that she had to cook dinner.  
  
He soon found a job for a local office building as a 'bookkeeper', and soon proceeded to learn that doing maths the Muggle way was boring and tedious. It was perhaps a godsend that one of Penelope's students had left a small machine called a 'Gameboy' at their flat and she explained the use of said item to him.   
  
It was before long that he bought one for himself, Charmed it to look like that Muggle math-doing machine known as a calculationer or whatever it was called, and spent his days making and breaking records on Super Mario while a covertly cast Arithmancy spell did all his work.  
  
What Penelope didn't know would never hurt her, and moreover, the Game Boy was a saving grace from the myriad of inconveniences of being in the Muggle world.  
  
~*~  
  
That afternoon Kimberly Weston came for her lesson.  
  
Penny really liked the girl. Eight years old, the daughter of a widower businessman whose long working hours made for both a sharp sense of observation and independence and a maturity beyond her years in his daughter. Mr. Weston lived three floors below, and Kimberly "call me Kimmie!" came twice a week to learn piano... and just to talk.  
  
"I'd taken some piano lessons before," Kimmie had told her the first time she came, "But then a year ago dad moved and we just never had time to find a teacher. I'm glad you teach. How long have you taught? Who is your favourite student?"  
  
Kimmie played tolerably, though she didn't always like to practice her scales. She called Penelope Ms. Lexa and often stayed to talk after lessons.  
  
"My nanny brings her son over," she whispered that day, after sight-reading the first page of Fur Elise. "He's REALLY annoying. Thinks that just because he's a bloke, he can PICK on me. His name's Dustin and he's ten. Are all boys annoying?"  
  
"No, dear, they're not, now will you play it again?" Penelope (Alexa Fasulo, piano teacher) asked gently.  
  
Kimmie made a little face, but tried again. She fudged a little bit on the accompaniment.   
  
"It still sounds like the song is supposed to," she said conspiratorially.  
  
"Better," Penelope agreed, "Now, just play that section again."  
  
Three tries and several more observations later, the clock tolled, signalling the end of the lesson. Kimmie grinned. "Can I stay for a few minutes, Ms. Lexa? Or do you have another student?"  
  
"You know you're my last lesson of the day, Kimmie," Penny told her gently, "Sure, you can stay for a few minutes." Idly, she played a few cadences on the piano. C major, a minor.  
  
"So when did you learn to play?"  
  
"When I was a little girl, I was four and a half when I started."  
  
"And then?"  
  
"I kept playing... until I was eleven," Penelope told her, "And then I went to boarding school."  
  
"And then?"  
  
"I played summers when I was home, and winters. And then I took another year of them after I left school."  
  
"When did you meet Mr. Lexa?" Kimmie asked curiously. "In school?"  
  
Mr. Lexa! "That's not his name, sweetheart."  
  
~*~  
  
Marcus came home early, tucking the 'calcula-whatever' into his pocket before he walked into the flat. There was the sound of quiet conversation, but no little sprog banging on the instrument. So it was the end of a lesson. If he recalled correctly, it was that little Weston girl who lived downstairs.  
  
He was just about to call out when he heard Penny's voice. "Yes, I met him in school."  
  
Who the deuce was she talking about, Nerdy Weasel? Why the devil was she talking about HIM!? Scowling just a bit, he inched forward.   
  
The little Weston laughed a bit. "Was he annoying?"  
  
Penelope didn't know quite what to say. "Well... he wasn't in my year, so I didn't know him well. I suppose he was a bit annoying at times."  
  
Marcus smirked. He couldn't agree more with THAT. Although Weasel was more than just a BIT annoying, and he really couldn't see why someone like Penelope would... although it was probably Weasel who... she was way too good for him, and... no he didn't just think that.   
  
"But you still married him," Kimmie giggled, "Is it because he's handsome?"  
  
Marcus froze. No, Penelope WASN'T talking about Nerdy Weasel after all.   
  
Penelope paused. He wasn't exactly 'handsome' by conventional standards. And she usually preferred more gentlemanly, academic types. And who Kimmie saw occasionally... WASN'T Marcus. It was all a lie, but not quite.   
  
"No, I didn't marry him because he's handsome, dear, but because I love him."  
  
"I'm glad to hear that," Marcus called out from the entrance of the room, and both of them looked up. Kimmie gave him a saucy, childish smile, but Penelope's face blushed like a rose.   
  
She could have said that, really, just to give a suitable answer to the question. And then, as the child bounced off the piano stool and stepped back, Marcus stepped forward to stand in front of his 'wife'. Idly brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear, he gazed down at her, willing her to look up.  
  
She did, and her face was peaceful, but before she could say anything or greet him in any way, there was the resounding boom of an explosion and the tinkle of shattering glass. And then Kimmie was shrieking, almost in excitement. "Look! There's a green skull thingie outside the window floating in the sky!!" 


	11. Fleeing

A/N: Yes. More action this chapter. Not THAT type... yet, anyway ;). Sorry to disappoint you all. But I hope that you like it anyway. Yes, we get to see what happens to Kimmie in this chapter, and also, as a bonus, we get to see C. Warrington again. All right, so that idea is more exciting to myself than anyone else. Oh well.   
  
Disclaimer: Please tell me that after the scores upon scores of stories you have realized that I do not own ANY fandom...  
  
~*~  
  
Even as Kimmie ran towards the window to get a closer look at the green mark floating through the sky, Marcus sprang forward and caught onto the little girl, lifting her easily as he would a Quaffle and pushed her back. His face was pale. "Stay back, kid."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Listen to him, love," Penelope fought to keep her voice from shaking, "Didn't... you hear that explosion? Don't want anything to hit you by accident..."  
  
Marcus looked outside the window, trying to shut out the distracting sound of screams while he attempted to see who the Death Eaters were, or at least how many there were. One, two, three...  
  
"A good dozen. Penny, take her and go." He'd not used that tone of voice since he'd been captain, and he himself was surprised by how calm he sounded. "Soon they'll be barging in and levitating the Muggles into chimneys in the spirit of an early Christmas... get her out of here and..."  
  
"What about you, Marcus?" Penelope hissed, staring at him with wide eyes, "Aren't you coming with us?"  
  
"I'm buying you some time, you daft woman," he growled, "Now get her out. I won't let them do anything to me. If all fails, I'll surrender."  
  
"You..."  
  
"Go. Go NOW, or I'll Banishing Charm you both," he hissed, "Come ON, Penny... I'll meet you at Warrington's office."  
  
Eyes wide, Penelope grabbed the confused Kimmie's hand and ran out of the building.  
  
"Who is Marcus, Ms Lexa? And why did Mr Lexa call you Penny? And what are Muggles? And where are we going?" The child struggled to keep up with Penelope's steps as they dashed down the stairs of the fire escape.   
  
"I'll answer later, Kimmie," Penny whispered, "Now follow me, stay behind me, and do not let go of me no matter WHAT, all right?"  
  
There was a single Death Eater towards the back of the building, and his-or-her head, face hidden by mask, swivelled up when the redheaded woman, clutching the hand of a small brunette girl, scrambled down the steps of the fire escape. But that which looked like a young Muggle woman perhaps fleeing with her daughter reached into her pocket and before the Death Eater could see what was going on, the little slip of a redhead extracted something from her pocket and yelled out "STUPEFY!"  
  
"WOW! That man just went FLYING!" Kimmie squeaked excitedly. "Did you just do MAGIC?!"  
  
"You know what?" Penelope let go of the girl's hand and instead, lifted Kimmie up in her arms. "Yes it was. Now we have to get out of here."  
  
A quickly whispered spell, and illegal or not, Penelope Apparated the two of them away.  
  
~*~  
  
"I need to see Cassius Warrington," a redhead, panting, holding a little girl in her arms, dashed into the building through the front door and ran towards the receptionist desk. "Where might I find him?"  
  
The impeccably dressed witch at the counter looked at her questioningly. "Do you... have an appointment with Mr. Warrington?"  
  
"No, Ms... Donley," Penelope glanced at the engraved name tag on the desk, "It's urgent. I was told to..."  
  
"Who are you?" Angela Donley gave her a very skeptical look, green eyes narrowing under perfect brows.   
  
She paused. Penelope Clearwater? Alexa Fasulo? What precisely was she to say? She didn't even know this woman.  
  
"Mr. Warrington will be finished with work at six o'clock. Miss," Miss Donley dipped a quill delicately into an ink bottle, "I'll tell him that you were in." She gave a glance at the door. "Have a nice day, Miss..."  
  
"I can't leave," Penelope said flatly. "You don't understand, ma'am. I... and Kimmie here, we were told to..."  
  
"But I don't have a record of that," the secretary daintily flipped through her papers.   
  
"Who's Mr. Warrington, Ms. Lexa?" Kimmie piped up curiously, "And what are Muggles? You didn't answer my questions."  
  
Miss Donley's quill dropped out of her fingers, ink splattering on parchment. Her green eyes were extremely wide with a mix of shock and outrage.  
  
"You... you're MUGGLES!?" the secretary's voice broke with horror, "How... what are you DOING here... Chauncey!"  
  
A thin little wizard with unruly brown hair poked his head through a door. Angela Donley's face was reddening, her jaw clenched. "Er, yes?"  
  
"Call an Obliviator over here," the furious secretary ordered. "I..."  
  
"Bloody hell," heavy footsteps sounded down the hallway, and Cassius Warrington, the man himself, stalked in. "Can a man not finish a day's calculations in peace? Oh Pe-- ALEXA! What are YOU doing here?"  
  
Penelope never thought that she'd be so glad to see that notably aggravating individual, and rushed forward, letting go of Kimmie and running forward, reaching her former fellow Prefect in an instant and throwing her arms around him. "I'm sorry, I need help, it's Marcus and he's..."  
  
Warrington stumbled back slightly and gently moved her to arm's length away. "Now, now... relax. Let's go to my office. Calm down. And don't throw yourself at me again, you'll never be able to look me in the face again after you come to your senses."  
  
"Mr. Warrington," Miss Donley cut in, "What about your five-thirty appointment?"  
  
"It just got cancelled," Warrington cut in. "Thank you, Miss Donley. Follow me, please?" The last was addressed to Penny. "And... I suppose the child can come. Why, you and Flint got cozy rather fast," he joked, "When did SHE come along?"  
  
"She's not ours..." Penelope flushed crimson.   
  
"Just joking, just joking," Warrington grinned. "Now, where is Flint?"  
  
"He told us to meet him here," Penelope whispered, an icy sensation filling her insides, as she glanced fearfully up at Cassius.  
  
"Well, we'll wait for him to show, I suppose." Cassius pushed open the door to his office. "Now, let's wait. Er, I don't really have anything here to entertain the kid."  
  
In an hour, though, as Kimmie ecstatically scribbled through sheets of spare parchment with colour-changing ink, child entertainment was the last thing on Penelope's mind.   
  
"Stop pacing and sit down," Cassius said softly, "Neither of you are supposed to be here, especially her, my secretary is THIS close to calling the Ministry, and..."  
  
"Change me back."  
  
"What?"  
  
It wasn't often that Cassius Warrington was shocked speechless, but Penelope didn't have the mind to commemorate this occasion. "Change me back. To Penelope Clearwater. A Death Eater saw me as Alexa Fasulo. Change me back."  
  
"What!? You're DAFT. If you're thinking what... bloody HELL, Penelope, no. NO."  
  
But before Cassius could protest further, Penelope grabbed his arm. "I got him into this mess in the first place. It's something I have to do."  
  
"I don't know what is it about love that turns normally sensible people into Gryffindors; arrogance, recklessness and hero complexes included," Warrington muttered to himself.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing," Warrington answered quickly, "Just... try not to get yourself in too much trouble trying to locate his ugly arse, all right?"  
  
"Of course," Penelope replied. "Now, the spell?"  
  
"Immuto authenticum," A blur, and then she'd changed back. Brown hair, slightly shorter than her disguised form was.   
  
Kimmie looked up from her parchments, her big blue eyes wide with obvious confusion. "Ms... Lexa?"  
  
"Call me Penelope," came the quiet reply, "I've got to go. I'll explain later."  
  
The little girl gave her an astonishingly perceptive look. "Go find Mr. Lexa, I'll wait right here."  
  
Penelope patted the girl's head and smiled with more confidence than she felt, before exiting the safety of Warrington's office and shutting the door behind her. 


	12. Reckless

A/N: Yes, it's been a while, and I'm sorry. To make up for it they snog in this chapter. That is all.  
  
Disclaimer: Blah. If I owned them, I'd be in Tahiti on a warm beach for Christmas, and not here in the freezing cold...  
  
~*~  
  
Penelope WASN'T sure what exactly she was going to do, and that was not usual for her. She was the steady, reasonable one, who always had plans and knew what she wanted and exactly how she would get there...  
  
Well, she knew WHY she was doing this. That much she was aware. But she didn't want to think about it, because on the likely chance that she would not succeed, it would only mean more pain.  
  
Furrowing her brows in concentration, she silently started performing any and all tracing spells she could remember.  
  
~*~  
  
"So, how does this magic thing work?" Kimmie asked Warrington, as the latter, his wand waving a complicated pattern over a sheet of parchment, muttered old incantations under his breath.  
  
A slight crackle in the air, and then a sketchy sort of diagram appeared on the parchment. Warrington looked up at the little girl with a slightly disgruntled expression on his face.   
  
"Look, kid, it's a bit complicated, you're not supposed to know about it, and Penelope broke a dozen laws to get you in here. And I'm somewhat busy right now... can you go play, or something?"  
  
"Are you going to play with me?"  
  
"I've work to do," the former Slytherin narrowed his eyes, "Otherwise I would."  
  
Kimmie nodded a bit dejectedly, and Warrington sighed, clapping his hands for a House Elf.  
  
As soon as one appeared, the Slytherin gave the small creature whispered instructions and a small bag of Galleons. The House Elf nodded its wrinkly little head, before disappearing with a pop. Warrington turned to the small Muggle girl with a brief half-smile.  
  
"I've gotten someone to buy you a few toys, and when he comes back, he can show you. Now, stay put and let me work for a bit."  
  
Kimmie nodded agreeably, and Warrington watched the parchment intently, following Penelope's movements on paper as she searched for Marcus.  
  
It seemed like a long time, although it was perhaps only a half hour, when the House Elf returned with a magically shrunk sackful of toys from a wizarding shop in Diagon Alley. "Brilly is back with the toys that Master has asked for girl," it squeaked, "What is Master want Brilly to do now?"  
  
"Take the girl to one of the empty rooms upstairs with the toys, watch her and make sure she goes nowhere, and give her a meal in an hour," Warrington replied decisively, before lowering his voice, "And make certain that she takes a Somniferum potion with it."  
  
Brilly nodded repeatedly, before turning his head towards the child. "Miss is to follow me, play with toys."  
  
Kimmie, giggling a little at the small creature's odd appearance, followed it out of the room, reaching out to touch Brilly's oversized ears. As soon as the door had shut behind the two short figures, Warrington immediately made his way towards the fireplace, throwing in a handful of floo powder.  
  
A scant fifteen minutes later, half a dozen Aurors were stepping into the office, several men and one lone woman. The woman, who looked to be in her early twenties, raised her eyebrows at Warrington. "Well? What's the emergency? You SHOULD know that I'm in the middle of a date..."  
  
"When are you NOT in the middle of a date? Make it up to him later, Higgs," the young man smirked at her, "I'm sure he won't object."  
  
"Was planning on doing that anyway," Madison Higgs retorted impishly, "But, what's the matter? You had bloody BETTER have summoned us over for something more important than, say, some little silly Quidditch accident..."  
  
"Now why would I do such a thing, dear cousin?" Warrington drawled, his eyes wide. "Although... a former Quidditch captain might have found himself in a scrape..."  
  
"I don't like the sound of that," Madison remarked idly.   
  
"But you're going to help me anyway," Warrington grinned in a very endearing manner at her.   
  
"What makes you think that?"  
  
"The fact that the sooner this is done, the sooner you can get back to Kirley Duke's dubious appeals and activities that I will not think about," Warrington replied quickly.  
  
Madison gave him what could only be termed a dirty look, but sighed and stepped forward. "All right, enlighten me upon the nature of the problem."  
  
~*~  
  
Penelope really didn't have a plan when she started tracking Marcus down, but with time (and perhaps desperation), snippets of ideas grew and took life in her mind. As soon as she had ascertained where he was (Flint Mansion, of all places!), the ideas that perhaps in other circumstances she would have dismissed as too risky were spurred into actions.  
  
The hulking man guarding the entrance to the Dungeons suddenly found himself reeling when a handkerchief sodden with some fluid flew towards his face, clinging persistently to his nose and mouth. It was only several minutes, before he fell down, unconscious.  
  
Out of the shadows a small, cloaked figure appeared, undoing the Sticking charm that she'd attached to the piece of cloth and Summoning it back towards her. Carefully, she placed it back into the flask she'd removed it from... chloroform.  
  
Continuing deeper into the dungeon, her heart pounding with apprehension, she searched the dim, dank cells... SHE had been trapped in one of them, once upon a time.  
  
That was at the beginning of this mess. Somewhat.  
  
Well, it was the beginning of the mess of running away with Marcus Flint and living under assumed identities.   
  
It wasn't the beginning of the whole situation that had thrown their paths together. It wasn't the beginning of their... what exactly WAS it that they had, anyway?  
  
Friendship? Too simple. She wasn't exceedingly lustful, so she didn't think it was that, either. Alliance? Too formal...  
  
Her thoughts whirling, she strove to keep focused on the task ahead of her, and glanced into each dark cell in turn, looking for a prisoner. Whispering a tracking spell under her breath, she stealthily waved her wand...  
  
But nothing happened. Not a spark, not a single jet of light. Like... "Magic is blocked," she whispered to herself, eyes wide.  
  
Doggedly, she continued onwards anyway. Searching would have to happen the old-fashioned way.  
  
She almost passed over a cell, tucked away in the darkness, had not a shock of matted blond hair caught her attention. Quickly, she went back to it, peering inside with apprehensive eyes.   
  
Nathaniel Fasulo. The non-existent 'Muggle', Marcus, still disguised. He was lying crumpled in a corner of his parents' own dungeons, and no one knew who it really was.. She jiggled at the locked cell, trying to wake him, but to no avail.   
  
"Alohomora!" Vainly, she tried to unlock the cell's door. Nothing. Magic blocked, and she shook her head in frustration...  
  
Only to have something fall to the ground.   
  
A hairpin, already loosened from the hard running and the transformation from Alexa Fasulo back to Penelope Clearwater. Quickly, she stooped to pick it up.  
  
What else could she do? She HAD to give a try.   
  
Minutes ticked by and sweat beads formed like pearls upon her forehead, but she jammed it into the lock, twist-- twist-- pull-- twist again... they could find her at any minute and she'd be killed.  
  
But he WOULD be killed if she didn't do this.  
  
The lock gave a snap, and opened in her hands. Almost sobbing in relief, she dove into the cell and dropped down by his side, on her knees.  
  
Finally, she drew back a small hand, her eyes burning with emotion, and in a quick, hard motion, slapped him on the cheek, HARD.  
  
~*~  
  
His eyes flew open even as a snarled curse erupted from his lips. "What the deuce was THAT for?!" But then, his eyes focused upon her face, anger and worry and something that exhilarated him for reasons that he swore he would contemplate later glinting in her gaze. "P-Pen---"  
  
"We need to leave," her voice shook, and her hands were clenched around his wrists. "You still have your wand?"  
  
"They found my attempts to extricate myself from here by magic amusing," he said by way of an answer, before getting up on his feet and pulling her out of the slimy dark dungeons at a run. Left, right, left... they finally reached the door that she had just come through earlier.   
  
"How the deuce did YOU get in?"  
  
"Certainly not by being taken prisoner because I decided to be STUPID and HEROIC and..." her voice was now quivering with the sort of relieved, passionate anger that came from too much emotion and too much stress, but the hint of an end in sight.  
  
"You've been in here before because you decided to be stupid," he reminded her bluntly, scowling at her.   
  
"I wasn't trying to SAVE you," she argued.  
  
"Unlike now," he pointed out. "Why, though? You KNOW what it's like in there..."  
  
"You BASTARD," she hissed, "As if I'd just LEAVE you here... you... I'd NEVER allow you do-- I left Kimmie with Warrington and tracked you down and after ascertaining that you were here, I decided to break you out. Of COURSE I'd come!!"  
  
His grip on her wrist was suddenly released, his hand falling instead upon her shoulder and pulling her none-too-gently towards him. "You're a reckless little fool, you know that?" his eyes were locked with his, filled with an odd, searing emotion.  
  
"And you AREN'T?" she flung back at him furiously. "How DARE you pull a hero act on me? Do you even have any IDEA how worried I-- MMPH!"  
  
His lips had seized hers, neatly cutting off her sentence and her thoughts in one shattering moment. She had been kissed before, but NEVER like this! His lips were bruising, not caressing, and it was hot and hard and fierce and she couldn't BREATHE...  
  
And yet she found her hands reaching up towards his hair and pulling his head down, deepening the kiss as she willingly parted her lips underneath his. A low moan started in her throat, an incoherent little sound pleading for more, when a sudden roar of rage reached their ears.   
  
"SLEEPING ON THE JOB, GOYLE!?" the unmistakable tones of Nero Flint rang out in the night air, "I should KILL you..."  
  
Penelope sprang apart from Marcus, eyes horrified. "RUN!" she whispered frantically, "Let's go!"  
  
They'd not made two steps away when there was a series of loud cracks in the air, an exclamation of shock from Flint and the awakening Goyle, and a cluster of figures in Auror robes burst in upon the scene. 


	13. Fire

A/N: This fic is coming towards an end, but no this isn't the last chapter. Anyway.  
  
Hope everyone's had a happy holiday season so far!  
  
Disclaimer: I didn't get them for Christmas this year either, because I was too naughty.  
  
~*~  
  
Even as Nero Flint and a handful of other Death Eaters on the scene charged forth with cries of rage, the Aurors met them, and the idea now was to not get caught in the crossfire.  
  
His left hand right around Penelope's wrist, he yanked her towards the gardens even as screams and spells exploded all around them.  
  
"Come on," he hissed in her ear, "Closest Apparation point past that gate..."  
  
Nodding became ducking as a fireball soared over her head, and Marcus, half-turning, snarled out two Stunning Spells in quick succession as they continued to run.  
  
The route, zigzagging and circuitous due to periodic hex-dodging, took more than a few minutes, and just as Marcus stepped outside of the warded area, the voice of Alastor Moody, harsh but loud, broke through the suddenly silent air.  
  
"Stop it right there!"  
  
Slowly, apprehensively, they turned around, but the ones standing were not masked. Moody narrowed his normal eye as he made his way towards Penelope's companion.  
  
"You..." he snapped, "Who put that disguise on you?"  
  
"A friend," Marcus replied immediately.  
  
"You're a friend of Cassius Warrington's?" a female Auror with dark hair and glinting dark eyes smirked at him. "He was the one who told me to get a few reinforcements and then track your friend over there."  
  
Marcus turned and gave a start, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Madison Higgs?"  
  
"Yes," the tall young woman raised an eyebrow, "Who ARE you?"  
  
"Marcus Flint," came the immediate answer. Higgs stared for a moment, before starting to laugh.  
  
"Well, well... Flint, it's been a while. Never pegged you as a blond, though."  
  
"Well it's a disguise," Marcus scowled a bit, "Short stuff over there," pointing at Penelope, "managed to get us into a scrape and we had to go into hiding as Muggles."  
  
"I see," Madison smirked a little at Penelope. "Well then... why don't we go back to Auror headquarters with the prisoners before they come to... and you can finish your tale back there after your disguise is removed, any Muggles you've become acquainted with Obliviated, and the like."  
  
~*~  
  
They dazedly Apparated into the flat several hours later, the multitudes of explanations and words that had been exchanged that evening replaced now by silence as realizations to some things set in.   
  
She was the first to speak, and her voice was quiet with shock and not quite steady. "You... your parents. You Stunned your parents."  
  
"Well obviously," he drawled, though his face was worn and tired, "They were about to curse you."  
  
She swiveled around to look at him, her face flitting with a myriad emotions, pain and elation and uncertainty and a bit of almost-bashfulness pervading throughout, her cheeks flushed. And she MEANT to ask him if he knew what he'd do now that his parents were captured. Really she meant to. Her lips, though, did not cooperate, and the question that came out instead was wildly different.  
  
"...Why did you kiss me?"  
  
His eyes darkened as he stepped forward. "For the same reason that you kissed back."  
  
She had kissed him back because the moment that his lips had seized hers, her heart had leapt to her throat and she had been singed by something scarily akin to passion from head to toe, but of course he couldn't know that. If he didn't, already.   
  
"Liar. You probably kissed me because you were glad to be alive."  
  
He was still staring at her, and she felt almost feverish, hot and cold in turns under that riveting gaze. "I AM glad to be alive, but if that were a reason for snogging someone, I'd have snogged every single one of those blasted Aurors. Even Moody. Why are you making such a fuss about this, anyway?"  
  
Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and the way he was staring at her was disconcerting her and he had no RIGHT to stare at her like that when he... "I saw how you were looking at Madison Higgs."  
  
She reflected rather despairingly that she should have cast a Muting Charm upon herself while she was still ahead.  
  
And he, damn him, was LAUGHING.   
  
"How I was... you must be JOKING. Penny, tell me you're joking. Me and... her?!"   
  
"Why not?" she raised her chin defiantly, "She's a Slytherin just like you. Confident. Beautiful. Why wouldn't you...?"  
  
"As much as I would have thought I'd NEVER say such a thing, but you can be truly dense, Miss Ravenclaw," he stalked up to her and seized her chin. "Would Madison Higgs randomly agree to eating dinner at a Muggle Chinese restaurant with me? Would Madison Higgs lose the serious act and throw flour at me when I pissed her off? And furthermore... would she come down to the depths of a Death Eater dungeon to pick the lock to my cell with a bloody HAIRPIN to get me out of there, even though I KNOW that I've been consistently irritating to her, often because she looks so cute when she's mad?"  
  
"I..." She wanted to say something, even if just to cover the pounding of her heart, which SHE could hear, "You... I... er..."  
  
And she threw her hands up, completely speechless, and backed away. Turning around, she started to run.  
  
She'd not gotten five feet away when he had caught up to her, roughly pulling her towards him by the waist and turning her around so that she was facing him, and she couldn't avoid his eyes or the burning heat of his gaze. "Let me finish that sentence that you couldn't spit out, short stuff. You are what I want, and that's that. Understand?" Not waiting for an answer from her, he bent his head and kissed her lips again, ignoring the little squirm and gasp of surprise and hanging on tight, his hands firm on her waist and pressing her against him, willing her to relax.  
  
She stopped struggling in a moment and tilted her head, and her hands moved from her sides to rest gently on his shoulders, no longer clenched, and he groaned triumphantly against her open mouth even as he lifted her off the floor and into his arms, moving in towards his bedroom without breaking the kiss.   
  
She tensed slightly when he dropped her onto the bed, but he didn't give her a chance to protest before he was kissing her again, pressing his lips with a gentleness that somewhat surprised both of them to any skin he could reach, hands stroking her curly hair as it fanned out upon the pillowcase before he slid them down her shoulders and sides to rest on her waist once more, pulling her even closer. She was burning, and it wasn't even that warm in the room, really. And she knew somewhere in the recesses of her mind that this sort of thing was supposed to be for some other time, more proper, except nothing was proper about THEM but she didn't care and oh... she would think about it much later...  
  
It was several hours later, and he guessed it was about three in the morning. But he wasn't sleepy at all, despite everything, and she was curled up with her warm hand resting on his bare stomach. He'd spent the past mindless... maybe it was half an hour, though he certainly wasn't keeping track, just brushing his fingers slowly and lightly through her hair.   
  
She was smiling just a little in her sleep, and he smirked slightly. He'd tease her about that tomorrow, of course. And she would blush again, and then that would lead to more kissing. At the rate this went, at least if he had his way, she'd fall asleep in his arms every night up until they got married... and every night after that... but WAIT just a bloody minute! Where did THAT come from?  
  
He froze in bed, staring disbelievingly at her tranquil, warm, sleeping form almost as if in an effort to clear that unbidden thought from his head. Him... Penny... married...?!  
  
That rebellious thought didn't go anywhere, and in fact, in an ornery, contrary sort of manner, only grew stronger the more he looked at her.  
  
He slapped a hand to his forehead and attempted not to scream 'BLOODY HELL!' aloud, because she looked so beautiful when she was sleeping like that.   
  
"Bloody sodding HELL..." his voice was soft and incredulous. "What the hell am I supposed to DO now!?" 


	14. Daybreak

A/N: Happy New Year! Have a chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Blahditty blah.  
  
~*~  
  
Despite the fact that the bed was warm, comfortable, and the one IN the bed with him was a soft bundle of femininity whose presence wasn't at all unwelcome, Marcus found himself throwing on a bathrobe and padding into the living room, igniting a fire in the grate and throwing in a handful of powder.  
  
"WARRINGTON! I don't CARE if you're shagging or sleeping or something! I have a QUESTION!" Marcus snarled into the floo connection, "Get your smarmy arse in here!"  
  
A few moments later, Warrington's aggravated face appeared in the flames. "This had bloody BETTER be a life or death situation, Flint."  
  
"It IS!" Flint hissed, "I'm bloody about to stick my neck in a noose!"  
  
Warrington remained silent for a few moments, before his weary voice finally crackled out over the floo connection, "...Well why couldn't you just SAY so, and spare both myself and Clearwater a lot of trouble getting your arse out of a dungeon when you were about to kill yourself anyway?"  
  
"Not THAT type of noose, you overweening pillock! The 'with this ring I promise to love, cherish and care for thee as my lawfully wedded wife' type!"  
  
"Flattered, I really am," Warrington said dryly, "But I don't fly that side of the Quidditch pitch, and where's the ring anyway?"  
  
"Not YOU, Penelope!" Marcus growled, his face a mixture of frustration and incredulity, "I think... I think I might LOVE her!"  
  
"Oh, is that all?" Warrington gave him a disgusted look, "I could have told you that ages ago. I'm going back to sleep if that's all, and you... you go shag her or something, I don't care."  
  
"I already have," Marcus allowed himself a wide smirk.  
  
"And it was good, I can tell from your expression. Well, all the usual congratulations and reminders to use contraceptive charms and that sort of thing. Good night."  
  
With that, the floo connection was broken, and Marcus scowled at the once again lifeless grate.  
  
"You mean I'm supposed to TELL her or something? You're NO help at all!"  
  
The fireplace did not seem to care about this fact.  
  
~*~  
  
Penelope awoke in the morning, feeling drowsy and tired still, but oddly content. The fact that she was in an odd bed, and most definitely neither dressed nor alone, did not seem to disconcert her much.  
  
Feeling delightfully languid, she stretched her arms, and found a hand clasped around her left wrist as the movement awoke the person next to her.   
  
She couldn't help blushing when his eyes swept slowly over her form, and started pulling the covers over her body, when he unceremoniously stilled her hands and pulled the blanket back down.   
  
"What? It was DARK last night," he proclaimed insolently, "I didn't get a good look!"  
  
She promptly dove under the covers and he felt a light slap landing somewhere on his stomach.   
  
Bloody hell, he grinned as he tugged her out, brown curls tumbling in an unruly mess over her reddened face, perhaps this love thing wasn't COMPLETELY bad.  
  
Suddenly, even as she shyly pillowed her head on his bare chest, she murmured a soft question against his skin.   
  
"What now?"  
  
He stilled, his hand frozen in place over her hair. To be honest, he hadn't really considered it... he wasn't sure.  
  
"Well, we can't go back to being Muggles," he started. "That's for sure."  
  
Although that much wasn't so bad. He wasn't really sure how much of the 'cooking' he could stand, at any rate.   
  
"Are we going back to... what we were, then?" she asked softly, looking into his eyes, "Before... all this happened?"  
  
The easy answer would be to say yes. He could go back to his old life (two missing parents notwithstanding), and she could... except it wasn't the same, and 'going back' implied more than jobs or roles.  
  
"Not quite."  
  
"Oh?" she looked at him steadily, her eyes showing a hint of apprehension. She really didn't know what to expect, after all. A kiss... even a shag. What did it MEAN to him?  
  
"I don't think I can go back to my old job," he started.  
  
"Oh." She turned away. So he would change from that to something else. Goodbye and good luck, she supposed, have a good life.   
  
"With all this... nonsense," he waved a hand in the air around them, "I might actually be inclined to go into Auror training."  
  
"I see," her voice was quiet. "I'm going back to what I was doing before."  
  
"That's nice."  
  
There was an odd emptiness in the air, despite the definitely warm and soft woman still lying half-heartedly in his arms. Suddenly, he spoke again.  
  
"You're not going to leave me, are you?"  
  
"I don't know," she forced herself to look at him, and her face was solemn. "Do you want me to?"  
  
"Hell no," he burst out, before laughing slightly. "No, short stuff, I would not want you to leave me."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"I want you to stay with me," Merlin's bald spot, but this was awkward! "I want to be with you."  
  
"As what?" she asked, a bit tremulously, "Friends? Shag partners?" The last was spoken a bit bitterly.  
  
"You're making this more difficult that it already is," he growled, grasping her shoulders with his large hands. "Listen, will you?"  
  
"Fine," she looked up into his face, her own face expressionless. "I'm listening."  
  
"So last night, you're... you know, sleeping, and suddenly I get struck with a thought that terrifies the hell out of me," he started conversationally, peering down at her face, "Somehow, in that thought, your name and marriage happened to be together in the same sentence. You can imagine my shock."  
  
From the look of shock on HER face, he was sure she could, and he pressed on. "This thought does not go away, in fact becomes stronger, and then I come to the bizarre realisation that, your perfectionism and bossiness and past with Nerdy Weasel notwithstanding, I don't just WANT you..."  
  
"You..."  
  
"I love you." There, it was out. The thunderbolt from heaven would come any moment now.  
  
He wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting, but for her to suddenly throw herself into his arms, laughing, and yet there was moisture falling onto his cheeks from her face. She seemed to have gone briefly mad.  
  
"Er..." he started, a bit nervously.  
  
"You PRAT," she buried her face in his neck.   
  
"You're getting me all wet," he muttered, wondering if this was supposed to be a good reaction. "You're supposed to say something like 'I love you back, let's shag again'..."  
  
Another light slap, and then she peered up at him, blushing like a sunrise, her eyes moist and glittering.   
  
"Fine then," she said a bit unevenly, stroking her fingers down his face. "I love you back. Let's shag again."  
  
"Oh, and you're marrying me too," he told her, rolling her over and putting his arms around her.   
  
Before she could have time to reply to that, he'd kissed her again, and any objections she might have had scattered away, forgotten. 


	15. Epilogue

A/N: Epilogue. This is the last part, yes. Hope you all have enjoyed reading this fic, because it was rather fun to write while it lasted.   
  
Disclaimer: The closest thing to a Slytherin Quidditch Player I possess would be a snarky fiance.   
  
~*~  
  
Sometimes the years seemed like a blur, and sometimes it seemed like so very long ago that they met.   
  
She was two and twenty now, and it was the calm after the storm.  
  
Today was one of the days that time seemed fast. perhaps it was the slight rush in the air, the spring wind.   
  
Penelope Clearwater, St. Mungo's nurse, silently walked down the hallway on her rounds. Her face was somewhat solemn when she stopped by a patient's room, and unlocked the door with her wand.  
  
Cassius Warrington had been lying in there, unconscious, for a year. The curse that he'd been hit with had nearly cost him his life, and it was anyone's guess when (if) he would wake.  
  
Su had visited several times, each time her face more expressionless than the last, and Penelope had always left her former housemate alone.   
  
There were nights that Marcus would not come home, raids, and sometimes when he did come, he was silent and his eyes were terrible. She would hold him and do anything she could to make him forget, but it was always a shadow in the background.  
  
They had not married in the midst of war, but with the war gone, the plans had started again.  
  
But there was a noise inside the room, and Penelope quickly cleared her errant thoughts away to open the door, her eyes widening slightly in surprise as they met Warrington's.  
  
"Who are you, and where the hell am I?" His voice was slightly hoarse from disuse, but he was most certainly awake and conscious.  
  
"St. Mungo's," she answered gently, "And my name is Penelope Clearwater. Do you remember me?"  
  
He did indeed seem to remember her, though his mind was on Su Li. She handed him a glass of water, supporting his slightly limp arm as he brought it to his parched lips, and tried to recount everything that had happened since he'd been cursed.  
  
He seemed a bit startled when she mentioned Su as the new Defense professor at Hogwarts, but when she told him that Su was safe, he smiled.  
  
Penny understood, because she too would smile whenever her own lover came home safe, and know that at least they had one more day.  
  
When she told him that her fiance had been in the last battle, and that Su wasn't counted amongst the casualties, he smiled.  
  
Later that night, when it was towards the end of her shift and he was starting to walk on his own, next to her, he turned his head towards her suddenly. "Think I can make it to Hogwarts?"  
  
"Not on your feet, you can't," she made a slight face, "But you can floo to Professor Dumbledore's office from the nurse's station. That eager to see her again, hmm?"  
  
He smirked at her slightly, "Seems to me that there's just something about spunky little Muggleborn Ravenclaws, hmm? And I'm not the only one who thinks so, apparently. When's the wedding?"  
  
"In a month," she said softly, giving him a small smile.  
  
"How sad," he grinned, "I would have wanted to coordinate the bachelor's party."  
  
~*~  
  
The fire was just dying down when he arrived, dark circles under his eyes but a cheerful sort of smirk on his face. She looked up with a peaceful smile when he walked up behind her and put his large hands on her waist.  
  
"Your friend just left," she told him softly. "Cassius. He woke up. He went to find Su."  
  
"I'll be sure to visit him... whenever he's done catching up with her," Marcus declared, as she turned around in his arms to face him. "Meanwhile, are you ready to go home?"  
  
She looked up into his face, secure in the warmth of his embrace, and suddenly smiled.  
  
"Quite, I'm in dire need of a nap, but after that..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She chuckled lightly and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Do you want to go out for some Chinese food?" 


End file.
